


Camp Mithraeum

by frostryn



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Summer Camp, can this gay idiot survive church camp?, lots of swearing, slowburn, spoilers for both books, there might also be some conspiracy jazz going on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 68,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostryn/pseuds/frostryn
Summary: As punishment for a particularly scathing end to her junior year of high school, Gideon Nav is sent to Camp Mithraeum: A sprawling collection of empty fields, wood cabins halfway rotted to hell, and a lake which glitters gorgeously in the sun, sitting approximately at the edge of the universe. Gideon, loudly gay and loudly atheist, is hoping to make this experience as miserable for everyone else as it is for her. Just when she thinks that bible camp couldn't possible get any worse, she's partnered up with her greatest enemy, Harrowhark Nonagesimus.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 327
Kudos: 258





	1. Bible camp couldn't get any worse

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This idea is credit to [crazy-pages](https://crazy-pages.tumblr.com/post/627936646189481984/the-locked-tomb-church-summer-camp-au) on tumblr, and I liked it so much that I had to try writing it. This is basically a Church Summer Camp AU, and it combines elements and characters from both Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the ninth, and therefore will contain some spoilers from both books. I'm not certain how long it's going to end up being but I hope you like it!

Camp Mithraeum: A sprawling collection of empty fields, wood cabins halfway rotted to hell, and a lake which glittered gorgeously in the sun, sitting approximately at the edge of the universe. At least, that’s how it felt to Gideon, who had spent the formative years of her life bouncing around foster homes and becoming intimately familiar with her city, and hadn’t ever heard about the weird church summer camp which cropped up at the edge of town. Maybe that was because religion was a cult and everyone sent here would be swiftly murdered and strung up as a warning to others. That’s what Gideon had told Aiglamene, at least, who had dreamed up this punishment idea after a particularly scathing end to Gideon’s junior year. She’d flunked Chemistry (perhaps because she’d spent all of her time working on the chemistry between her and the ethereal beauty known as Coronabeth Tridentarius), and her highest grade elsewhere had been a low B. She didn’t actually think that Aiglamene had been serious when waving the flier in Gideon’s face, ( _Help your teen get closer to Jesus! Gorgeous campground with excellent mentorship!)_ but before she knew it she was forced to pack a bag and get in the car. Gideon had tried everything short of running away to convince Aiglamene to drop it, including shouting “but I’m gay!!” loud enough that the neighbors probably regretted ever moving next door, but her fate had been sealed the moment her grades were posted. Aiglamene was strong willed and physically strong enough to force Gideon’s unfortunate butt into the passenger seat of her SUV. Resigned to her inevitable crucifixion, Gideon pouted sourly for the entire car ride.

Her only solace was the fact that she could make this experience just as miserable for everyone else as it was for her. With any luck, she’d be kicked out minutes after stepping inside and be grinning smugly the entire drive back home. She had the vague thought of printing vulgar t-shirts (taglines including “ _God is dead and I killed him”)_ but she was broke and Aiglamene would be suspicious of any packages in the mail. Instead she settled on her punkest outfits, including the ripped t-shirt of every explicit Christian-Mom-Unapproved band in her repertoire and the handful of pride shirts she’d collected in her last few years of going. She was turning her teen petulance and homosexuality up to 11 and, at this point, no longer cared if that meant she was leaving in the body bag.

And so, armed with her red hair perfectly coiffed, a black hoodie which proclaimed _“Love is Love”_ in rainbow text, and her aviator sunglasses, Gideon reluctantly left her guardian’s car and stalked up to the gates of the camp as though walking towards inevitable torture. That’s exactly what it would be, though, and in fact having her fingernails ripped out or being waterboarded might actually be _less_ painful.  
  


After being herded by more than one disgustingly cheerful camp staff member clad in a horrid neon shirt screaming _GOD LOVES YOU_ in bold comic sans, Gideon found herself standing in the dining hall of the camp. Well, it was less of a dining hall and more of a big old barn with windows punched into the walls and a few new rooms added on to the back, presumably converting this ancient building into a halfway functioning cafeteria. There were several long tables, and Gideon was directed to sit at one in the middle. The volunteer directing her (who briefed her at great length about the activities offered at the camp, as if she weren’t already stuck here without being subjected to a sales pitch) told her that the campers had been sorted into groups and they would do all of their activities together. The room was absolutely buzzing with activity, kids running through the aisles and talking like they’d never talked in their lives. Gideon was itching to witness some church kids get into a fist fight, or to get into one herself. The day was still young.

  
Each table could probably seat 20, and the table she’d been directed towards was half filled already with a myriad of faces. At the first sight of brilliant blonde hair and a golden smile, Gideon stopped dead in her tracks. Coronabeth Tridentarius was at Camp Mithraeum, at the table Gideon was supposed to be sitting at. The very girl who had cost Gideon her grade in Chemistry. Maybe this was fate after all, and this camp experience was going exactly the way a lot of porn Gideon watched had gone. For a single glorious moment, Gideon was actually overjoyed to be here in some shitty old barn in the middle of buttfuck nowhere surrounded by a bunch of emotionally stunted bible thumpers.

  
“What the hell are you doing here, Griddle?” The question, more of an accusation, really, brutally gunned down Gideon’s fantasies with its all-too-familiar sepulchral intonation. Her gaze followed the voice across the table and met the dreary black eyes of Harrowhark Nonagesimus, her rival since childhood, who had made every day of her high school experience hell on earth. Harrow, looking as always like a Hot Topic had thrown up all over a starving raccoon, was at this stupid fucking bible camp. Harrow, who Gideon would have sworn on the life of her dead mother was a literal demon or at the very least a devil worshiper, was sat placidly with her bony hands folded over a bible. She looked completely out of place among the earth tones and pastels her fellow campers were wearing. With one deep sigh, Gideon smacked her butt down on the bench across from Harrow and grinned.

  
“I’m here to find out how best to cast you back to the underworld, you ghastly hellion.” She replied, laying her duffle bag beneath her feet. Gideon prepared for a scathing retort from Harrow, who had spent nearly every day breathing down her neck and cursing her very existence, but before she could muder Gideon with words, Coronabeth interrupted.

  
“Gideon!” She cried, violet eyes alight with glee, “I didn’t know you were going to be here!” Harrow screwed up her little black painted mouth and refocused her glare on Corona.

  
“Neither did I.” Gideon replied simply, resting her chin on an open palm. The tall blonde beauty scooted closer to her, until their knees were nearly touching. She was wearing a flowing chiffon blouse which matched her eyes and clung close to her waist, and a silver cross necklace rested delicately at her clavicle.

  
“I didn’t know you were religious, you never seemed the type.” Corona said with a raise of an exquisitely sculpted eyebrow.

  
“Good, because I’m not. I am literally the furthest a person could get from believing in God.”

  
Harrow said blithely, “I’m surprised you haven’t yet burst into flame. God ought not to be so merciful.”

  
Gideon rolled her eyes, “I’d like to see him try. I bet I could take god in a fight.” At this, Corona bubbled into laughter and Harrow seemed to be mentally ripping Gideon into tiny bloody little Gideon-pieces.

  
Grinning at Harrow’s lack of reply, she surveyed the table. The only other people she recognized were Ianthe Tridentarius, who looked like anemia on legs and was glaring at Gideon for no reason she ever understood, and Naberius Tern. Tern was entrenched in conversation with a nerdy-looking guy dressed in all grey with thick glasses and a face that was all angles. Beside them was a girl in matching greys with choppy slate-brown hair, who had checked out of this conversation even before it began. The nerd didn’t look particularly excited to be the center of sir hair gel’s attention either. Two dorky teens sat at one corner of the table, one of whom was staring at Gideon in what could have been either fear or awe - maybe both. At the end of the table was a very frail-looking girl wrapped in a summer dress of seafoam green, bob of chestnut curls bouncing as her head did. She sat in a wheelchair which had handles to match her dress, incredibly dwarfed by the guy she was speaking to. He looked like steroids and protein powder had a baby and was gesturing emphatically while he spoke.

“Good afternoon, campers!” A voice called over the crowd. Everyone’s heads whipped to the front of the hall, where a man wearing a moth eaten sweater was being handed a microphone. It screeched with feedback and the entire hall covered their ears; the teens across the table groaned. Gideon wanted to die. “Sorry about that, we’re not the most tech savvy here.” the man cleared his throat awkwardly, “Anyway, welcome to Camp Mithraeum! We’re all so excited to have you here. My name is John Gaius, and I’m the camp director. You all can just call me Teacher. I’ll be responsible for leading our larger group activities, and your councilors who you’ll meet soon will direct smaller activities. As you probably know, each group will have two councilors, who are very excited to meet you all.” The man, Teacher, droned through this practiced spiel with more enthusiasm than was warranted. “We have a lot of planned activities for these next two weeks, so be excited about that!” His enthusiasm was slipping now, he cleared his throat again. “Anyways, without further ado, it’s about time every group gets acquainted with their counselors. They will take you through a little tour of the grounds and help everyone get settled into their cabins. I will see you all back here for dinner in a few hours!” Finally, he passed the mic off to someone else, and Gideon watched intently as he walked through a door and disappeared, something nagging at the edge of her brain.

  
“Alright, brats. It’s time to get going.” A woman’s voice said, tearing Gideon’s attention back to the table. One of their counselors had arrived, and she stared down at the gaggle of young adults with a scowl painted across her oval of a face. Her apricot hair was braided back and her _GOD LOVES YOU_ shirt cast an unlovely neon green reflection onto her face and neck. She looked implacably between her late 20’s or late 30’s and like she’d rather be literally anywhere else. _Mercymorn,_ according to her name-tag (which was definitively the second stupidest name Gideon had ever heard) gestured impatiently at the campers who were still seated.

  
“What about our other councilor?” asked the grey-girl, flatly. Mercymourn’s scowl deepened and she rolled her eyes with a grunt.

  
“Augustine will be around later. I’m Mercy, now get up, kiddies, I don’t have all day.” Gideon disliked being called a child, but Harrow looked ready to kill. That almost made Gideon like Mercy.  
  
The tour of the camp was predictably dull, that tone only interrupted by Gideon and Harrow communicating in a violent back and forth of fuck-you faces and rude guestures. Mercy either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Across from the dining hall was the chapel, and down the path to the right were the cabins. Their group had two cabins, 4a and 4b (boys and girls), and they were tiny wooden structures with drafty looking widows. There weren’t bathrooms in the cabins, which sucked, but the two little bathroom buildings weren’t that far off either. To the left was the athletic area, which Gideon was excited about. Activities involved: swimming, kickball, and fencing of all things. Harrow was looking a bit green, probably because she had little stick arms and legs and could hardly lift a pencil without her pitiful body threatening to snap in half. As if reading Gideon’s thoughts, Harrow shot her another glare. Other than that, the camp was simply surrounded by probably endless empty fields, because this was the perfect setting for some shitty low budget horror movie. She could see it now: _Murder at Mithraeum,_ in which strong and smoking hot babe Gideon Nav defeats the evil Harrowhark Nonagesimus once and for all and foils her stupidly elaborate plans to burn down the entire camp.  
  
Eventually, Mercy led the group back towards the cabins. Everyone dumped their bags in their respective cabin and congregated in between them. There were a few benches placed strategically in the middle, and on one sat a pile of those name tag stickers and a bucket of multicolored sharpies.

  
“Alright, it’s introduction time infants!” Mercy sat herself down on the bench farthest from the nametags and watched as names were scribbled and pasted to people’s chests. Gideon had half a mind to write something stupid, like _Girl of your dreams,_ but Mercymorn was watching with an expression that said she’d dealt with that before and was not above backhanding a teenager. So, in orange sharpie, **Hello my name is…** _Gideon Nav_ was slapped unceremoniously onto her chest.

  
“Hi, I’m Dulcinea,” the girl in the wheelchair ginned up at Gideon, “And this is Protasilaus.” She gestured to her uncomfortably-buff friend who had been pushing her around all day, and then coughed fretfully into her elbow. Protasilaus, in the middle of scribbling in a notebook, glanced up at Gideon with a polite smile. Dulcinea’s eyes were big and blue and beautiful, and for another moment Gideon felt like maybe bible camp wouldn’t be so horrible after all.

  
“Gideon,” she replied warmly, taking a seat on the bench.

  
“So, Gideon,” Dulcinea cooed. “You don’t look like you belong here. Not you or - her, over there.” she pointed unashamedly at Harrow, who was talking to the nerd boy and his short haired companion. 

“That’s Harrow. And no, I don’t belong here.”

  
“Oh, you know her? No wonder, you two look like a matched set!” Dulcinea said innocently, unaware that any presumed association with Harrow was like a slap in the face. They did _not_ look like a matched set! Just because they both wore black! Gideon was back to hating bible camp again.

  
“Unfortunately,” was all she could say, her eyes fixed on Harrow and the nerd boy in front of her.

  
“That’s Cam and Pal.” Dulcinea supplied helpfully, and Gideon squinted to make out their name tags: _Camilla Hect_ and _Palamedes Sextus_ the former written neatly and the latter in nearly incomprehensible chicken scratch. Palamedes Sextus… _Sex Pal_ … 3rd stupidest name Gideon had ever heard.

  
“Do you know everyone here?” Gideon asked, fixing her gaze back on the frail beauty who stared back with intensity.

  
“Oh, no. I’m just good - friends - with Palamedes. And everywhere he goes, Camilla follows.” Okay, weird dynamic, and there was something unmistakable about Dulcinea’s tone. Gideon let her eyes wander over the nametags of all the other idiots she’d be stuck with for the next two weeks. The two younger teens, Jeannemary Chatur and Isaac Tettares, were in the middle of an argument with Naberius Tern. He did seem the type to pick fights with a bunch of literal children. Corona and Ianthe were both sitting on the bench looking bored, and the conversation going on between Harrow and Palamedes didn’t seem to be going according to Harrow’s master plan. With a scoff and a glare, she slammed her bony ass onto the bench and turned her back to Palamedes, who looked exasperated. And then Harrow fixed her glare on Gideon, as if she’d personally fucked up the conversation for them. In response, Gideon flipped her the bird and stuck out her tongue. Dulcinea, apparently watching this the whole time, giggled with glee.  
  


**

  
It was about an hour and a half later that the group was deposited back in the dining hall. Waiting for them at the table was their other camp counselor, Augustine, who had pale hair slicked back and looked a bit older than Mercy. As the group approached the table, he raised his lit cigarette in their direction, which was by far the ballsiest thing Gideon had ever seen someone do in a religious environment. If Gideon thought that was cool, Ianthe’s mind was absolutely blown. The anemic twin immediately sat herself across from Augustine and struck up a conversation. Mercymorn either had something else to do or just hated Augustine _that much_ because she simply fixed him with a glare, said a terse: “watch the kids” before taking off in the direction of the kitchen and not appearing again for the duration of the meal. Gideon sat herself beside Corona again, and on her left sat the two dreadful teens, staring at her with their big, dark eyes. Gideon tried to ignore that. Dulcinea sat on the end of the table again and when she erupted in a coughing fit so violent that Protasilaus had to slap her on the back, Augustine politely put out his cigarette.

  
Everyone was called by table groups to approach the counter at the back end of the barn and grab their dinner. It was the typical stainless steel cafeteria counter, but the food was not typical cafeteria food. The counter was manned by a woman wearing glasses with her long hair tied back, and a man who handed off food with an uncannily cheery disposition. Served on little plastic trays was the most delicious smelling beef stroganoff ever, accompanied by green beans and mashed potatoes. She was already stuffing her face before she’d even made it back to the bench. It was probably the best food Gideon had tasted in her life. Aiglamene wasn’t an exceptional cook, although Gideon would never tell her lest she be starved to death. While she gorged herself, Harrow pushed her food around on her plate and nibbled in disgust.

“Griddle, take off those ridiculous sunglasses,” Harrow said abruptly, “We’re _inside_ and you don’t look cool.”

  
“Oh, did you miss gazing into my beautiful eyes, my evil lady of the night?” Gideon slid her glasses down her nose and winked across the table. Harrow spluttered, flushing beet red with what had to be anger.

  
“The food is good, isn’t it?” Interrupted the voice from earlier, Teacher. “I don’t know how we survived before Magnus and Abigail started volunteering here. If it weren’t for them wanting to watch over little Jeannemary and Isaac, well, you should thank them for the food.” The teens sitting beside Gideon looked ready for death.

  
“Nooooo, don’t mention us!” Jeannemary squealed, hiding her dark face in her hands. Isaac crushed the spikes in his bleach-orange hair unintentionally in annoyance, groaning loudly. Gideon turned to face Teacher, her glasses still crooked down to the end of her nose. He looked back and momentarily frowned, gazing intently at her as if trying to read her thoughts, before his Cult Leader Supreme mask slipped back on and he gave her an unmistakably warm smile. Gideon pushed her aviators back up and turned away. Well, that was weird.

  
Teacher cleared his throat, addressing the group: “I look forward to becoming acquainted with all of you, you seem like nice kids.” Harrow rolled her eyes at _kids_. “I will see you all at tomorrow’s morning mass.” He left as abruptly as he had arrived, leaving Gideon to finish her food and catch snippets of conversation. Ianthe and Augustine seemed to be deep into a discussion about philosophy, which was bizarre. Palamedes and Dulcinea were speaking in hushed tones, and Camilla gave flat one word responses to Harrow, who seemed increasingly more irritated. Corona and Naberius were in the middle of upping the stakes on a mysterious bet, which Gideon wanted to hear more about, but was interrupted by a tug on her hoodie sleeve. She turned to see Jeannemary looking at her with a fierce expression.

  
She screwed up her face and asked, “Where _did_ you get those glasses?” and behind her, Isaac added, quietly: “They are pretty cool.”

  
“Thrift store,” Gideon grinned. 

**

  
They found Mercy waiting for them inside the girl’s cabin. The cabin was small and wooden, with four bunk beds: two on each wall. They were made up with black bed covers and lumpy old pillows. Across from the door was the shelf that everyone’s bags had been hastily put on. It smelled like earth and dust. Jeannemary headed towards a bed to claim, but Mercy’s arm shot out; she basically clotheslined the poor kid.

  
“Not so fast. Bunks are assigned by last name, I won’t have any babies arguing over who gets top bunk either.” Gideon’s heart sank as the pairs were read aloud. 

_“Jeannemary Chatur and Camilla Hect. Coronabeth and Ianthe Tridentarius. Gideon Nav and Harrowhark Nonagesimus._ Dulcinea Septimus will be sharing a bunk with me.” Mercy said, and nobody moved. “Play nice with your bunk buddies, they will be your partner in pretty much every activity.” Oh god _no._ Gideon regretted being born, and Harrow fixed her with a glare as if it had been Gideon’s master plan to also have a surname starting with N. It was Gideon’s foolish and desperate hope that she’d be bunking with Coronabeth and get to say she fell in love and bible camp, while Harrow was condemned to dealing with the lesser twin for the entire two weeks. But nope, God probably actually just hated Gideon. That had to be it. If God was real, he was out to fucking get her. She thought, piteously: _Aiglamene, how could you do this to me?_

  
It was Camilla who moved first, effortlessly claiming the top bunk against the younger teen who was probably too terrified to even speak to Camilla and argue about it anyway. The twins headed towards their bunk wordlessly.

Gideon moved next and called to Harrow with a grin, “I call top.” and headed towards the left bunk furthest from the door, beside where the Tridentarii were sitting.

  
“I knew you were a top.” Corona waggled her eyebrows in a way that made Gideon feel like she was about to explode. Harrow looked absolutely mortified at this implication as she sat her bony ass down on the bunk below Gideon’s. Even Camilla, stone faced and intimidating, gave a snort of laughter.

  
“That’s not what I meant!” Gideon cried, pulling her bag up with her, embarrassed to the extreme. This was the worst day of her life, probably. She was partnered up with a sad bony evil bat instead of either of the two very hot girls in the room! For the next two entire weeks she was going to be dealing with _Harrow,_ goth weasel extraordinaire _._ Gross. Ick. Ew. Bible camp was going to fucking kill her.  
  



	2. Morning woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a weird encounter with Harrow in the bathroom, Gideon witnesses two unexplained arguments. She then attends morning service with yet another church-unapproved shirt and hates the entire thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who was so kind about the first chapter! I felt unexpectedly inspired and so here's chapter 2!

By the time everyone had settled down to sleep, after evening prayers that she sat through in an irritated silence, Gideon could hardly sleep. She was uncomfortably aware of Harrow’s hateful stick body below hers, both of them lying supine like two corpses buried on top of each other. If she focused hard enough, she could hear the tiny wheezing breaths from underneath, which she did not want to hear at all. This was uncomfortably reminiscent of a better time in their lives, and of all the bad ones too. They’d grown up in each other’s pockets, first inseparable in a good way, and then making it their lives’ work to fuck with each other. It hadn’t even occurred to Gideon that she might see Harrowhark here, of all places, in some shitty run-down bible camp. It’s like fate tied them together in some stupid terrible way, up until when the two of them inevitably strangled each other to death.  
  
Eventually, long after everyone else had started snoring and the light of the moon cast shifting shadows on her face, Gideon fell into a dreamless sleep. Or maybe it wasn’t dreamless, maybe this entire situation had been a dream and when she awoke she’d be at home, in her messy room surrounded by posters of pretty ladies and the comforting knowledge that she wouldn’t have to see Harrow for a few blissful months before Senior year. When she did wake up, as suddenly as she’d fallen asleep, it was due to the sound of Harrow shifting in the bed below her. Damn it, she was still at fucking bible camp.  
  
Cool, sleepy light entered through the windows. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, it was probably 5 AM or a little later. Leave it to Harrowhark to be up at the literal ass crack of dawn. When Gideon sat up, she could see Harrow in her long black nightgown, looking like a drowned Victorian child and with her back to Gideon. She was shoving things into a bag, towel tossed over her shoulder. The rest of the girls were still asleep, and so Harrow was silent when she left the cabin. Gideon contemplated going back to sleep for another blissful hour or two before she’d be forced to actually get up by Mercy or one of the other girls, but she didn’t. If she waited that long, there probably wouldn’t be any hot water left and she’d miss a golden opportunity to fuck up Nonagesimus’ morning. Gideon descended her bunk ladder silently and gathered up the humorously pink toiletry bag Aiglamene had given her, tossing its matching towel over her shoulder. She stuffed a fresh outfit into the bag and left as quietly as Harrow did.  
  
It was still late May and the air was misty and cold when Gideon stepped out. Crickets chirped from somewhere far and she rubbed her bleary eyes, walking barefoot on the concrete path. What passed for pajamas at home - boxers and a tank top - was much too little for a chilly morning like this. She was starting to miss her bed and regret her decision. Perhaps Harrow was right to stalk the night like a spectre from a different and very worse time, all long sleeves and hem nearly at her feet. The best Gideon could do was speed walk towards the bathroom building across from the cabin. It, blissfully, had heat.  
  
When she got in, the door swinging noisily shut behind her, one of the four showers was already running. The bathroom had two sides, one for toilets and the other for showers, divided in the middle by a wall with mirrors and sinks on either side. Gideon placed her pink bag on the floor outside of the stall farthest from Harrow’s and pulled the flimsy curtain shut. The water came out freezing at first, but then so hot it threatened to melt through her skin. When it was habitable, Gideon spent a little longer than necessary washing and trying to fully wake up. Eventually, she dried herself off, changing into a pair of ripped up jeans and her most vulgar band tee (featuring two skeletons in a 69), because it was sunday and Mercymorn said they should dress appropriately for mass. When she left the stall, working the pink towel in her auburn hair, she was shocked to see Harrow still there, at a sink. No, that wasn’t it. Gideon had been shocked because she hadn’t seen Harrow’s blank face in years. She was always wearing a frankly ridiculous amount of eyeshadow and pale foundation. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Gideon had to remind herself to act normal _, damn it!_  
  
Harrow was brushing her teeth, and had changed from her nightgown to a knee-length pleated skirt, button up, and cardigan: all black. She looked like a goth Catholic school girl, but not in the hot way. Her short black curls were still dripping from the shower, plastered onto her forehead. Gideon came to stand at the counter, one sink between them, and brushed her own teeth. Her eyes kept flickering to Harrow in the mirror. She looked so young underneath that mask of gothic teenage rage, and Gideon was reminded of a time before Harrow had armed herself with eyeliner like it was her first line of defence, when the shy girl still smiled and her nose was crowded with freckles. They were barely there now, just a few pale dots across her nose. Gideon had forgotten how pink Harrow’s lips were, and how deep those bags under her eyes ran. When Harrow caught her staring, Gideon expected her to yell and insult her like normal, but those dark eyes merely blinked, like the angry bitch part of her programming hadn’t loaded yet so early in the morning. It felt weird to be standing so close to her, in a silence that wasn’t openly hostile. Like maybe Harrow had been replaced in the middle of the night by an alien who knew manners. Gideon was afraid to speak and shatter what settled in between them.  
  
She focused on getting ready instead. When her hair was sufficiently dry, Gideon styled it carefully with a touch of mousse and the flick of a comb. When she was finished, she grinned at her reflection in the mirror, gold eyes glittering. Perfect, beautiful, hot. With any luck she’d still get to say she fell in love with a pretty girl at bible camp.  
  
Harrow fretted at her damp hair with a towel, impatiently brushing it in hopes that it would lie flat. It would not, and she gave up with a huff. Then she fished in her black bag, setting makeup products messily to her right. Harrow scrambled after an eyeliner on its way off the counter, and Gideon caught it reflexively. She held it out with an uncertain smile and Harrow looked at her with an unplacable expression, almost like she hadn’t even noticed Gideon was there. When Harrow reached for it she hesitated, her fingertips resting on the other girl’s. Gideon’s eyes widened, smile falling slack as Harrowhark’s black gaze pierced her. For a moment, nobody breathed. Harrow’s hand was so unexpectedly warm, especially for a girl bent on looking like a walking corpse at all times, and the touch made Gideon’s organs feel like they’d been mercilessly tossed down a flight of stairs.  
  
And then the spell was broken, and Harrow ripped her hand away, eyeliner in tow, like she’d been burned. “What are you still doing in here?” She spat, acidly.  
  
Well, the evil part of Harrowhark had finally loaded, and Gideon decided then to get the hell out of there. For multiple reasons, most of them being: _jesus christ, what the fuck was that about._ This was too much, too early, she wished she was still asleep and that she didn’t now know how uncomfortably _nice_ Harrow’s hand had felt on hers. Ick. Gross. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d followed Harrow to fuck with her, and now felt irrevocably fucked with.

  
  
**

  
  
By the time Gideon had returned to the cabin, most of the other girls were up and getting ready for the day. Mercymorn, looking like murder on legs with a mug of black coffee Gideon was pretty sure contained 100% espresso shots, took one look at Gideon’s t-shirt and ordered her to cover it up while they were at mass. Gideon would have argued, but this morning had already been uncomfortable enough without being mercilessly harangued by someone who had been horribly misnamed. So she zipped her black leather jacket up over what was objectively art, slapping her sunglasses back over her nose. Maybe she would wear them for the entire rest of these two weeks, just to fuck with Harrow.  
  
While the Tridentarius sisters showered, Camilla changed into slightly different greys, this time including a skirt. Jeannemary very shyly asked Cam to help her braid her hair back, and Camilla obliged wordlessly. Dulcinea, wearing a somehow even more ruffled dress than yesterday, was propped up on crutches. She swung her way to Gideon, coming to rest against the ladder, looking up at her with her big blue eyes. In response to an expression Gideon didn’t know she was making, Dulcinea said:  
  
“I’m an ambulatory wheelchair user.” and at Gideon’s confusion, she qualified: “I don’t need it all the time, sometimes I can walk okay.” Her tone was of a girl used to explaining her very personal issues to everyone and their mother, who cut to the chase out of necessity even before anyone asked.  
  
“Oh,” Gideon said dimly. “Good to know. Does that mean you’re feeling better than yesterday?”  
  
“Yes, I’ll probably make it through mass without my chair. Which is good, because the ramp is uncomfortably steep. Where’s your friend?” Dulcinea glanced pointedly to the empty and unmade bottom bunk, and Gideon wrinkled her nose.  
  
“Probably doing some freaky blood sacrifice in the woods. Or ruining someone else’s day.” Gideon replied, chewing her lip. “And she’s not my friend.”  
  
Before that line of inquiry could go any further, Harrowhark walked through the door radiating hatred. She’d applied her typical black lipstick, pale foundation, and dark eyeshadow and there was no hint of the girl whose touch had lingered on Gideon’s hand earlier. Maybe that was a good thing. After her came the Tridentarii, dressed in matching violet dresses with high collars and bishop sleeves. On Coronabeth it looked exquisite, but it only served to make Ianthe look more like a rectangle. A glare from Harrow sent Dulcinea away, though not without a coy wink in Gideon’s direction. 

  
As all the girls were ready, Mercymorn stood, downed the rest of her coffee, and clapped her hands together. “Alright, girls. We can’t disappoint God by being late to mass.” She left the empty cup on her bed, tucked a bible under her arm, and opened the door. Even she was dressed nicely, as it was evident that everyone else in this room respected the rules. Gideon, who disappointed God on the reg, was going to unzip her jacket as soon as Mercy turned her back.  
  
Outside, Gideon (with reinvigorated day-ruining plans) fell in step beside an irritated Harrow, who didn’t even look at her when she said, “You look like a penitent raccoon.”  
  
Harrow only rolled her eyes, “Did Mercy make you change out of that ridiculous shirt?”  
  
“Ridiculous? This is art, Nonagesimus!” She unzipped her jacket and gestured to the exquisite rendition of skeletons in a sex act. “Tell me you wouldn’t put this on your wall.” 

“I wouldn’t,” she said, because she was never any fun at all. And she was probably lying to boot; the shirt was art. Camilla joined the fray, glancing from Gideon to Harrow as if waiting for an introduction that would never come.  
  
“You should tell Sextus that he’s wrong. You agree with me, don’t you, Hect? Be reasonable.” Harrow said, apparently continuing with whatever argument was happening yesterday. Gideon felt uncomfortably third-wheeled.  
  
“Yes well, you don’t have much in the way of evidence. It doesn’t matter if I agree with you, Palamedes is very strong willed. You won’t convince him by arguing for reasonability when he doubts yours.” 

  
Harrow turned to Gideon and said, “You agree with me, don’t you, Nav? Even you’re not that stupid.” Blindsiding her completely.  
  
“Sextus isn’t stupid. He just doesn’t jump to conclusions.” Camilla said, coldly.  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Gideon said, “but no, I agree with Sex Pal. Whatever it is, you don’t have _evidence_.” Camilla’s eyebrows careened into her hairline, and Harrow regretted asking. She regretted it so much that she sped up to walk beside Ianthe, instead, which made Gideon feel bizarrely hurt. Anyone would feel hurt when Ianthe was considered a more pleasant company. Camilla remained at her side. 

  
“Anyway, I’m Gideon.” Gideon said awkwardly, begging to fill the silence.

“Camilla.” She replied, as if Gideon didn’t already know, and “How do you know Harrowhark?”  
  
“We grew up together, kind of. Met in elementary school. She hates my guts.” Gideon shrugged, watching Harrow and the way her pointy shoulder blades shifted as she gestured. It felt weird to explain this so simply, especially to a stranger. When Camilla didn’t reply, she asked, “How do you know her?”  
  
“I met her through Palamedes after they became internet friends.” She said this as if it were obvious, as if _Harrowhark_ as a person wasn’t a dictionary antonym to the concept of having _friends_ .  
  
“What are you three arguing about anyway? Harrow looked remarkably pissed yesterday, and for that I have to admire Sextus.”

“Nonagesimus believes there’s something - weird - going on at Camp Mithraeum. Palamedes thinks she’s being paranoid.” Camilla did not elaborate on what _weird_ meant.  
  
“Weird other than the uncomfortably saccharine grown adults wearing comic sans?”  
  
“Apparently.” Was all Camilla said. Gideon wasn’t going to get much more out of her. Briefly she considered it; maybe this whole thing really was a cult and they were walking towards their premature deaths. Harrow, on the other hand, had always been remarkably paranoid. 

When they reached the little paved clearing between the barn and the chapel, Mercy stopped the group to wait for the other cabin to join them before they went inside. Gideon had nearly forgotten they even existed. She watched as pastel wearing kids through teens were being ushered through the tall, heavy looking doors of the church. It was a pretty small building in terms of churches Gideon had seen in her life, only a little larger than the barn, probably only containing a room for service and maybe bathrooms. The camp wasn’t that big anyway, everyone fit with room to spare in the cafeteria, with only maybe 250 kids in total. Its sliding doors were closed, but Gideon could smell breakfast being cooked. Why the fuck did they have to worship God on an empty stomach?  
  
When the boys cabin joined up with them, Camilla immediately moved to Palamedes' side. Gideon, feeling awkward and out of place, followed her. She could at least make her introductions to the mythic Sex Pal before Harrow could stop her. Harrow was still by Ianthe, and by the look on her face, she was regretting being by Ianthe. Served her right. The two groups mixed into one, and Gideon could hear the immediate and distant sound of Mercy and Augustine having an argument. 

Palamedes was still in his drab greys, but this time in more formal-looking slacks and a sweater. Nerd. As she approached, he fixed his gaze on Gideon and she was momentarily taken aback. Behind his thick spectacles flickered very clear, gorgeously grey eyes which nearly transformed his face into something attractive. Nearly, but maybe that was because Gideon has been a raging lesbian since the womb. He flicked his eyes from her face to her shirt, barely suppressing a frown.  
  
“You must be Gideon Nav, I’m Palamedes Sextus.” He sounded like he was already fed up with her shit. “Nonagesimus has told me a lot about you.”  
  
“What the fuck, why?” Was all she could say, because what was she _supposed_ to say to that? 

Palamedes replied nonchalantly “You’re most of what she talks about.” and before Gideon could consider ritually killing herself, he added: “Most of it is negative.”  
  
“That’s a relief.” If Harrow somehow secretly liked Gideon, she would’ve been pissed. Palamedes, actually frowning now, opened his mouth to speak but closed it when he saw Harrowhark stomping her way towards them.  
  
“That girl is a pervert.” She fumed, tossing a glare towards Ianthe, who was smirking in their direction. The pallid twin blew a kiss at Harrow and she looked ready to kill. Murder would at least make bible camp more interesting.  
  
“A surprise to no one.” Gideon said, and Harrow glared at her, too.  
  
“You’re no better.” Harrow looked at the shirt again, and Gideon tossed up her hands in defeat. Once again, she was someone worse than Ianthe, which ought to be scientifically impossible. She was honestly surprised that Harrow didn’t get along with the tall bloodless blonde, because they were both complete and total creeps.  
  
“Hey, Pal!” came Dulcinea, walking up on her crutches to meet them, “Hey, Cam.” Camilla waved, and Palamedes smiled. Now _that_ made him legitimately attractive.  
  
“Good morning, Dulcie.” His reply was uncharacteristically warm. When she extended her hand to him, he kissed the back of her knuckles and she bubbled up with laughter. “Let’s get you inside.” He slung his arm around her shoulder and the two walked towards the (admittedly steep) ramp on one side of the church.  
  
“What’s their deal?" Gideon asked, watching the tender way Palamedes rubbed at Dulcie’s shoulder. Of course the pretty girl who seemed to actually enjoy Gideon’s company had some hopeless nerdy weirdo vying for her attention. 

  
“They’re-” Camilla hesitated. “They’re close.”  
  


It was at least five more minutes before a church bell rang out and Mercy and Augustine realized they had somewhere to be. They continued to argue, only now they were walking towards the doors and leading a group of sleepy teenagers. Gideon ended up close behind them and caught snippets of their conversation.  
  
“You were on board before, I don’t get why this is so difficult for you to understand-”  
  
“Understand? Understand!!” Mercy interrupted, her entire face scrunched in contempt. “The key word is _before!_ I don’t want to lose my job because of you!” She pointed her forefinger at his chest violently.  
  
“Oh, like you even enjoy working here. You look like you’re going to jump out of your skin every time a kid speaks to you. I doubt you’re even qualified-”  
  
“Qualified!! I’ve been working here just as long as you have!” They definitely hated each other. Mercymorn looked murderous and Augustine looked like he needed a cigarette.  
  
When they crossed the threshold of the church, Gideon was vaguely surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust. Still arguing, just a little bit quieter now, Mercy and Augustine led them to a section of pews. The church was better kept than the rest of the camp but its tile floor was visibly scuffed and a heavy layer of dust had settled in the rafters. The pews, though, were clean and polished wood, mostly filled with people already. The entire place was a brilliant rainbow of color as light streamed through the stained glass windows, catching the dust in the air like it was slowly falling glitter. Gideon had never seen anything like it in any church she’d been forced into as a child; this place must be impossibly old. Begrudgingly, she had to admit that the whole effect was absolutely gorgeous. She was so taken by it that she didn’t even notice that she’d sat in a pew right next to Harrow, until Harrow scoffed and scooted her bony ass as far away as she could possibly get in the cramped wooden seat. The light on Harrow gave her skin a blueish tinge, making her look even more ghostly. She had her hands folded over a bible, spine completely straight as she stared forward with dead black eyes.  
  
“Stop looking at me.” Harrow snapped. Gideon stopped looking at her.  
  
The church service began abruptly, Christian pop music blasting from somewhere in the rafters. Crowd reaction was mixed. A lot of kids stood up and started singing, waving their hands in the air like they were having a deeply religious experience. Then again, they probably were. This was a church. Others sat blankly in their seats or made futile attempts to keep their conversation going. Jeannemary and Isaac, sitting a row in front, were very pointedly covering their ears and groaning; they both seemed to be in the beginnings of a punk phase and therefore pop music was like nails on a chalkboard. Gideon agreed, but her reaction was similar to the nunlet seated beside her: Harrow merely frowned and seemed to be waiting for this assault on her eardrums to end. No one in their right mind would accuse Harrowhark Nonagesimus, tiny evil wraith who haunted hallways in her rainbow of blacks, of willingly listening to pop music. Gideon recalled one day when Harrow’s headphones unplugged in the library and screamo blasted from her phone speaker.  
  
After a miserable three minutes, the acoustic guitar Southern man lamenting about how bad his life was before he found Jesus subsided, and there was another screech of feedback from a microphone in the front of the room. There was a small stage with a lectern, and behind it stood Teacher. He was wearing a brown button up with a floppy old dogeared collar, and a lopsided tie.  
  
“Happy Sunday everyone,” He said into the mic, surveying the crowd. “We’re all so glad to see you on this second day at Camp Mithraeum, because this is where it really gets good. Yesterday was for settling in, but now we get to spend the rest of these two weeks getting to know each other and getting closer to God.” He didn’t have the typical manic excitement that Gideon associated with everyone from small-town preachers to millionaire televangelists. He spoke plainly and warmly to the polite and silent crowd. “I know everyone’s hungry, I can smell whatever Magnus and Abigail are cooking up from here, so I promise the service won’t run too long. I won’t have a bunch of teenagers starving to death in their seats, we wouldn’t want a repeat of The Incident.” Only a few people laughed, Coronabeth being one of them, and Teacher himself. Then he cleared his throat awkwardly and continued. “Now let us begin with a prayer.”  
  
When everyone around her steepled their fingers and bowed their heads, Gideon did not. They couldn’t see her anyway. She lounged back in her pew, resting her feet against the back of the one in front of her, and observed the crowd’s fervent lips mumbling over the prayer that Teacher led. It was the typical _God who art in Heaven_ drivel, praying that everyone at the camp would be safe and happy, praying for the food being prepared in the barn, and Gideon tuned most of it out. It was the sort of thing she’d been subjected to a hundred times, but couldn’t recite even if there was a gun to her head. Beside her, head bent low over her bible, Harrow whispered along, but she added something on to the very end, just as everyone else was lifting up their heads.  
  
“And let she who lives below be untouched by the flames, in Jesus name I pray. Amen.” Which was cryptic as hell, obviously, but in character for Harrowhark.  
  
After that, the mic was passed off to someone else, someone who followed more closely to the preacher stereotypes that Gideon was used to. The entire service lasted maybe an hour, and it was the most boring hour of Gideon’s entire life. Worse than every detention she’d ever gotten, worse than that one time she’d broken her leg and could barely do anything, worse than every time Aiglamene took her phone, laptop, and the remote to the TV as punishment for any of Gideon’s many crimes.  
  
To entertain herself at least a little bit, she leaned over to Harrow and whispered, “No wonder you’re such a pain in the ass if you’re subjected to this snoozefest on a weekly basis. I almost feel sorry for you.”  
  
Harrow hissed back, “A godless heathen like you would never understand the complexities of worship. You are His biggest mistake.”  
  
“Oh, that’s the best compliment I’ve received in my life. My lamentable lady, you’ll make me blush.” Gideon slid her glasses down her nose, and winked. Harrow moved even farther away from her after that, and kept her eyes forward. Gideon considered that a win.  
  
Eventually, after an erroneous closing prayer, the congregation broke up. They were herded like tired, hungry zombies out the front door, which was held open by Teacher. The languid legs of 250 kids could only move so fast, though, so the camp leader was striking up conversation as teenagers milled passed.

When Gideon came to the door, he smiled that warm smile at her and said: “Gideon, correct?” 

His eyes flickered to her shirt. She nodded, surprised he knew at all, and prepared to be excoriated. 

He surprised her more by saying, “I like your shirt. Great band.” Because if anything should have been the antithesis of holy, it would be her tee, and even more so the band it represented. But Teacher merely grinned, his dark eyes flashing in his plain old face, like this was a familiar inside joke between them. He looked so generic, like a cardboard cutout of every preacher and TV dad Gideon had ever seen, but the way he acted was something else. He spoke so easily, seemed almost too human, too openly friendly and kind. It evoked a strange feeling Gideon couldn’t put her finger on, the easy way he smiled and gentle way he spoke.  
  
All she could say as she walked through the door was, “Yeah.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this one wasn't boring, there was a lot I wanted to do with it but I got to 4,000 words and thought I should probably not make it insanely long. It's mostly a lot of building up things that will happen later. Writing this has been so much fun because I get to relive that one time I went to church camp in real life and live vicariously though Gideon being bolder than I ever would've been.


	3. French toast, with a side of bible study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The campers have breakfast, and Gideon is forced into bible study with Harrowhark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this chapter is gonna be a little bit shorter than the first two because it was originally part of a much longer chapter, but I split it in half because they have a slight tonal shift and I didn't want it to be too long. So basically, you get 2 shorter chapters for the price of one really long one. Chapter 4 will be posted not long after this one! Again, thanks to everyone for their nice comments and encouragement!

Gideon felt the morning catching up with her as she sat in the dining hall, wishing desperately to be back home and shotgunning a monster energy. Of course they didn’t have those here, this was bible camp. The cold case up front had water bottles, Naked juice, and Bubly (which Ianthe eagerly snatched a can of, confirming Gideon’s theory that only evil people liked sparking water). Both terrible options, and whatever secret coffee machine Mercymorn had patronized was definitely not available for campers. Breakfast, the only light at the end of the tunnel, was French toast with hash browns and fruit. She’d never actually had French toast before and it was completely delicious.  
  
“You’re supposed to pray before you eat.” Ianthe said as Gideon sat her tray down on the table. Today Ianthe sat beside Harrow, who could not look more uncomfortable if she tried. She had practically folded in on herself and was scrunching her entire pointy little face into a frown. Gideon was already halfway through her potatoes and praying for the 3rd time in two hours sounded completely ridiculous. When she flipped the bird across the table, Mercy shot her a warning look and a hissed _behave!_ The table, all except for Gideon, said almost the same prayer as earlier in the chapel. When Harrow whispered the same cryptic addition as before, Mercy snapped her eyes open and looked at her in complete disgust. Harrow was a freaky devil worshipper confirmed, probably.  
  
Gideon was bookended between the two younger teens and Dulcinea this morning, and couldn’t look forward to conversation with the frail brunette because she and Sextus seemed to be discussing something about medical science. Well, _discussing_ was only half right. It was a lot of Palamedes talking with the occasional interjection from Dulcie, otherwise she simply smiled at him and nodded politely. Coronabeth, across the table, was comparing notes on poetry with Protasilaus; apparently this big muscle man was a huge softie. Gideon would actually rather die than be interested in poems, and therefore didn’t even consider interrupting the word fuckery. So, she resigned herself to a silent meal, getting only a little joy out of the way Harrow very pointedly kept her back to Ianthe in order to find some solace conversing with Camilla. Camilla seemed hardly interested in what Harrow was saying, more invested in how Ianthe’s whey colored face was turning red from the indignation of being ignored. Naberius was trapped in between Mercy and Augustine, who hadn’t recovered from their argument earlier. Mercy was grinding her molars at an alarming volume; Gideon feared for her dentist. Eventually, Ianthe chose the high ground and turned her back to Harrowhark as if she’d never wanted to speak with her anyway. Instead, she asked Augustine a question Gideon didn’t catch.  
  
“Good point.” Augustine said, and then louder: “I have just been informed that Mercy neglected yesterday to explain how things go around here.” The grinding of teeth got louder, and Mercymorn glared at both Augustine and Ianthe. “Basically, we have meals together in here and there will be several activities as a group. Depending on the day, there will be a free hour or so before lunch and more free time from dinner until 8 pm. We trust you kids to stay out of trouble, and during that time you’re allowed use of anything on the campground. Basically everything short of hopping the fence and high-tailing it out of here is welcome.”  
  
“I was _going_ to tell them! We’ve just been busy! What do you take me for, Augustine?” Mercy glowered, and he ignored her.  
  
“Oh! And if you’re going to go swim in the lake, do it as pairs. _No solo swimmers, bring your bunk buddy._ We don’t want to have to fish your corpse out of there later.” Unexpectedly morbid for the councilor of a religious camp, but then again none of the adults so far seemed to fit the mold. Neither Augustine nor Mercy felt like they belonged here, and pity the fool who thought they could work together.  
  
“This morning we’ll have bible study back in the cabins and then a nature walk, which I will be leading. Won’t that be fun.” Mercymorn added flatly, conveying exactly how much fun she expected to have.  
  
“And if there’s time after that, you kiddos get free reign of the castle. But be back here by noon or we’ll throw you in the hole.” Augustine cracked open his can of Bubly, as if to punctuate his threat.  
  
The rest of breakfast was uneventful, the monotony only being interrupted when a couple of apron-wearing adults, evidently Magnus and Abigail, came to embarrass the hell out of poor Jeannemary and Isaac. When Magnus tried the classic got-your-nose gambit on Jeannemary, she wailed and looked ready to explode.  
  
“Magnus, I’m not a kid!!” Cried the kid, face red up to her ears.  
  
Isaac was horrified when Abigail ruffled an adoring hand in his hair, crushing the elaborately gelled up orange spikes. The young teens didn’t seem biologically related to their apparent guardians, and Gideon wondered if they’d been foster kids, too. Watching them, there was an uncomfortable cocktail of mixed feelings twisting up her soul. Aiglamene was more than an adequate guardian for Gideon; she was matter-of-fact and emotionally distant in the way that Gideon knew how to handle. She called Gideon out on her shit and was hard on her when it was necessary. If she’d been taken in by someone more like Magnus and Abigail, she probably would’ve died of emotional overload. It was too much. Still, she sort of wondered what it could have felt like to be cared for that way, even when became overbearing. To be seen, and heard, and to be more than just a ward that the state wanted desperately to pawn off on some suburban couple. It brought back that familiar pang of yearning in her chest, the kind that had eaten holes in her heart when she was a child, desperate for something _real_ . Jeannemary and Isaac didn’t know what a good thing they had.  
  
**  
  
When they returned to the cabin, it was warm enough for Gideon to abandon her long-suffering leather jacket on a rung of the bunk ladder. Mid-morning light flooded in through the tall windows of the small wooden building, illuminating the dirt that settled into cracks in the floorboards. It was only the second day, but the place was a bit of a mess. Suitcases were open and spilling their contents onto the floor, beds were rumpled and unmade. Mercymorn, for her part, didn’t seem to care. There was still an empty mug lying on her pillow, anyway.  
  
Since there weren’t chairs, the girls were soon each seated on their bunks, watching Mercy in (mostly) silent expectancy. “Alright, bible study.” Mercy exhaled, taking a seat on the side table near the door. “This will be quiet group work. Before anyone asks, _yes_ you are being paired with your bunk buddy. Dulcinea, you’ll be with me since we have an odd number.” Harrow opened her mouth to protest but was silenced with the waggle of the councilors impatient hand. “Don’t challenge me, Harrowhark. You are a little baby and you won’t win this fight.”  
  
“I beg to differ.” Muttered Harrow from the bottom bunk, indignant.  
  
“What was that, you impudent little newborn?” To that, Harrow was silent, but Gideon could feel the anger rolling off her in waves. “Alright then. I have a sheet of questions for you to ask each other, and then passages to find in the bible. First part better be at an indoor volume, and the latter part will be silent. Silent! Unless you don’t want your free time before lunch.”  
  
Under the threat of remaining in this stupid stuffy cabin for the rest of the morning, the girls paired off and cracked open their bibles. If Dulcinea was opposed to the idea of studying her bible with their unfriendly councilor, she didn’t show it. She simply made herself comfortable on her bottom bunk and waited for Mercy to finish passing out papers. Ianthe climbed up to join Corona on the top bunk, whispering confidentially in her ear, and even Jeannemary seemed to be warming up to Camilla. 

  
Gideon climbed down from her bunk and looked at Harrow, who was sitting cross legged and stubborn on her rumpled duvet. Interacting with Harrow and reading a bible were both on Gideon’s _“fuck this shit very much”_ list, and therefore this ought to be buckets of fun.  
  
“Well?” Gideon gestured to the floor, moving to sit down.  
  
“On the floor?”  
  
“Would you rather invite me onto your bunk? No? Alright then, you eldritch horror, let’s cozy up to God!”  
  
Harrow rolled her eyes and sat down a few feet in front of Gideon, with her back straight and hands folded in her lap, black eyes trained on Gideon’s. Or rather, the sunglasses that she still wore. When Mercy handed both of them a piece of printed paper and two stubby pencils, Gideon cleared her throat.  
  
“Uh, Mercy? I don’t have a bible.”  
  
“You don’t have a bible?” The counselor repeated incredulously. “Gideon, do you know where you are?” Mercy squinted at her, arms folded.  
  
“Well aware. You got any spares?”  
  
Mercy did, indeed, have some spares. Or rather, the cabin had one. The counselor retrieved it from a drawer in the side table. It boasted the typical pleather-bound facade, complete with gilded edges that glowed in the daylight. Nondescript and probably unused, but it smelled like mildew and had been in that drawer for an indeterminable amount of years. 

  
“Sorry, I didn’t have a copy with pictures.” Mercy said savagely, and tossed the bible into Gideon’s lap. Gideon placed it in front of her with the paper she’d been given, and mentally prepared to have to comprehend words. Mercy wasn’t wrong, Gideon had never been the reading type, at least not academically. She loved comics and the occasional novel, but for the most part she preferred to let her brain melt in front of the living room TV. Harrow on the other hand, spent every free hour she had during school in the library, which was only part of the reason Gideon hardly went there.  
  
“Are you ever going to take those inane sunglasses off?” Harrow asked her, lifting the paper up to read.  
  
“Nope. Spite is a powerful motivator, my dark sorceress! What’s the first question?”  
  
“Stop with the sobriquets, Nav.” 

“As soon as you stop calling me Griddle.”

An eye roll, and then rather boredly, Harrow read out: “How did you find God?” This was going to be a huge pain. If only she’d been miraculously paired with Corona, who would have somehow made studying the bible a highly enjoyable and flirtatious activity. With her breathy voice and golden smile, she could probably even convince Gideon to genuinely believe in God.  
  
“I didn’t. Some say he’s still out there.” Gideon replied in a low voice. Harrowhark shot her a look of warning, which made her crack up, “Come on! I’m not religious. I’ve never read a bible. I’ve been to church less than twenty times in my life. Also, I’m a lesbian.”  
  
“Why are you even here then? You’re a disgrace.” Harrow snapped. Gideon was definitely ruining whatever quiet serene penitence Harrow had planned for these two weeks in purgatory.  
  
“Punishment. I failed chem, Aiglamene sent me to the worst place she could think of.” And the punishment was working. Maybe Aiglamene had known, somehow, that Harrow would be here too and bribed someone to pair them together.  
  
“Unsurprising, given the diminutive size of your temporal lobes. It’s a miracle you weren’t smothered at birth.” Harrow shifted her body to lean against the edge of her bunk.  
  
“Yeah, same to you. How’d you find God then?” Gideon asked, and Harrow looked at her as if she were stupid.  
  
“My father was a reverend. You know this, Griddle. I was raised in the church, I took over a few of their services after they died.” Briefly, Gideon imagined that tiny Harrow she used to know, up on some church podium, reading bible verses to a silent crowd. Probably up on a pile of books or step stool in order to reach the microphone. That was kind of sad, actually, so she stopped thinking about it.  
  
“Oh, come on, you’re taking all the fun out of this.” Gideon protested.  
  
“This isn’t supposed to be fun.” Harrow’s tone was icy.  
  
“Not with that attitude.” Gideon glanced at the paper and read the next question, “What kind of bible do you use most often at home for every day reading?” Jesus Christ, this was boring. Reading a bible _every day?_ _  
__  
_“A regular King James bible I take notes in. That is a very stupid question.” Harrow said, like it was somehow Gideon’s fault. “I won’t ask you because you are an illiterate renegade.”  
  
“I am not illiterate.”  
  
“Comics aren’t literature.” Harrow rubbed at her temples, like she was beginning to get a headache. “What’s your favorite bible verse?” She read from the paper.  
  
“Ruth 1:17.” Gideon replied, before Harrow had finished the question. Harrow was momentarily taken aback, and seemed to be examining Gideon in a new light. “What?” Gideon asked.  
  
“I thought you said you have never read the bible.” The dreary eyed nunlet said.  
  
“I haven’t, I heard it at a wedding.” This made Harrow frown even deeper, somehow. “What? I’m a romantic!” Gideon cried, loud enough for Mercymorn to yell _shush!_ in their direction.  
  
“You’re the farthest person from romantic I have ever encountered.” Harrowhark said simply.  
  
“Well, unfortunately for you, my monochromatic mistress, it is not you who I’m trying to put moves on.” As if Gideon would ever flirt with Harrow, her arch nemesis and probable future murderer. The idea was enough to make her vomit. Harrow’s face flushed, seemingly equally disgusted with the idea.  
  
“And thank the lord for that.” Harrow replied, quieter, holding the paper up to hide her face from view.  
  
“Alright then, next question.” Gideon cleared her throat. “If the apostle Paul were alive today, do you think he’d be active on social media?” She could hardly get through that one without laughing. “Holy shit, who wrote these?” She cried in disbelief, much to the chagrin of Mercymorn.  
  
After that, they disregarded the remaining questions and moved on to the assigned solo reading. The rest of the room fell silent before long. Gideon had moved to lie on her stomach, bunching up her jacket to rest under her head, bible and list in front of her. Harrow remained as she was, knees folded to her chest with her open bible close to her eyes. They had been given a list of verses regarding making friends and finding God in new experiences, that kind of crap. The object of the exercise was to read the passages and jot down observations in the allotted blank space. Gideon did, honestly, try her darnedest at first. She opened the book and sifted through the table of contents, pushing her aviators up into her hair and squinting. Maybe she needed actual glasses, because the font was impossibly small and the letters started to swim in front of her eyes and mix together. It didn’t help that it had been written by some pedantic dead asshole using verbiage that had gone unuttered for centuries. It didn’t take long for Gideon to give up and flip to the flyleaf in the front of the book. On that blank page, she used the stubbed up pencil to write:  
  
 _This is so boring. How have you survived this long?_

She then scooted the book towards Harrow, nudging it against her boot. Harrow picked the book up and scowled when she read it, scribbling something below and shoving it back.  
  
 **_Writing on a bible for this purpose is heretical, Griddle._ **

  
Her handwriting was curt, aggravated, and not unfamiliar. Gideon had become accustomed to seeing it on the angry notes Harrow had slipped her over the years.  
  
Barely suppressing a grin, she wrote back: _Yeah, okay, but you just wrote on it too, genius._  
  
When she read that, Harrow scoffed in disgust and kicked the bible back, nearly hitting Gideon in the face. Having trapped Harrowhark into apparently committing heresy, she felt sufficiently victorious. For the rest of that silent time, Gideon lay her head on her jacket, head toward the bunk. She was looking forward to finding anything interesting to do during that promised free hour before lunch, and in the meantime reveled in her win in the war against Harrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: those dumb bible study questions came from a real actual christian website about questions to ask your church group to break the ice. Just in case anyone thought I was actually funny enough to come up with "would paul the apostle use social media."


	4. When to dodge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy leads a nature walk and Augustine thinks that dodgeball is an acceptable game for church summer camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the promised 4th chapter! evidently I have discovered that I really don't have much going on in my life and so writing 13k words about a locked tomb bible camp AU in 3 days is just, the thing to do. so it may keep updating this fast, who knows!

  
The aforementioned nature walk began with both cabin groups congregated near the benches in between. Augustine left Mercymorn to take the reins, raising his cigarette towards her in a mock salute as he sauntered away. She had strongly encouraged the girls to change out of their Sunday best, and everyone but Harrowhark did, because Harrow just dressed that way every day anyway. She herself had changed, back into the horrid neon shirt all of the staff had been given. How a person could wear that willingly was beyond Gideon. In Dulcinea’s case, her wheelchair was unfolded and she was pushed along by Mercy. It was evident that Augustine had encouraged his cabin to change as well, because gone were the button-ups and formal slacks, replaced by tees and jeans. Gideon, obviously, didn’t have to change. She just threw her leather jacket over her shoulder again and let her sunglasses serve their intended purpose.  
  
“Alright kiddies, listen up.” Mercy said, slinging an emergency whistle around her neck. “We here at Camp Mithraeum go by the buddy system. Stay with your bunk buddy, and stay on the path, or I will go find a long rope for everyone to hold onto single file like a baby chain.” The phrase _bunk buddy_ got funnier every time it came out if Mercy’s irritated apricot mouth. “Get lost and you will be left behind to be killed by wolves.”  
  
And so Harrow was again at Gideon’s side, waiting silently for the group to depart. It was truly the cruel hand of fate who rubber-banded the two together, or forced them into the metaphorical get-along shirt. It wouldn’t work, either, being in close quarters only seemed to make Harrow hate Gideon more, and make Gideon doubt her sanity. Fixing her eyes anywhere but on Harrow, Gideon spotted Palamedes headed in their direction. With him, funnily enough, was his bunk buddy Isaac, so when Camilla joined them as well, the younger teen pair was reunited at last. They sort of abandoned formation after that, Jeanne and Isaac falling behind Cam and Pal.  
  
“Good morning, Nonagesimus. Nav.” Palamedes said, giving Camilla a simple nod, and then looking around a little more. When those lambent eyes fixed on their target, Dulcie, his disappointment was evident. Gideon watched as Dulcinea smiled sympathetically at him, and mouthed _Help, I’m bunk buddies with Mercymorn._ Gideon could tell he wanted to rescue and wheel her away to their little group, but Mercy was bent on treating them all like incapable toddlers and keeping an eye on Dulcinea as if afraid someone would push her off a cliff if she turned away for even a second. With nothing left to do, he resigned himself to socialization with the other people he apparently liked less. Poor long-suffering Camilla.  
  
The walk itself, on a flat and clear dirt path accessible for Dulcinea in her wheelchair, was just as interesting as any nature walk Gideon had been on before. As in it wasn’t. She’d seen trees before, she’s seen grass and dirt and bugs. What she hadn’t seen, though, and what made it worth it, was Mercymorn having a beetle stuck to her face while she flailed hysterically until Naberius was able to snatch it off. They were led through a grove of papery birch trees and oaks, with tall grass on either side. The sun signaled the upcoming arrival of noon and Gideon found herself surprised it was still morning. Getting up early was stupid, there was way too much day. Especially when, thus far, the day had been filled overflowing with Jesus-y bullshit.  
  
The conversation between Cam, Pal, and Harrow was incredibly dull. Gideon only tuned in long enough to make the dim observation that they were talking about breaking into a computer. This ought to have been a very fascinating conversation linked to some shady spy activities, but apparently Nonagesimus and Sextus could make anything boring. Nerds, no wonder they were friends.  
  
“That, hypothetically, should work. But tell me why, Nonagesimus, do you need to know?” Palamedes asked, wiping his glasses on his t-shirt (which was printed with the phrase “ _Are you made of Copper and Tellurium? Because you’re CU TE”_ and Gideon thought it must have been a funny gift from Dulcinea).  
  
“Curiosity. And if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be any business of yours, Sextus.” Harrow replied curtly. Palamedes didn’t seem to believe this. Harrow’s eyes darted to Gideon, and she could tell that she didn’t want her here for this conversation. Unfortunate for her, because it was finally getting a little more interesting.  
  
“Harrowhark, if this is about what you said before-”  
  
“It’s not.”  
  
“Well, if it is, you need to be careful. If you got caught, we’d all be in the shitter.” He perched his glasses back up on that angular nose of his.  
  
“He has a point, Harrow.” Camilla interjected. “This isn’t only about you.”  
  
“It’s perfectly faithless of you to believe I’d be caught!” Harrow raised her voice, aggrieved.  
  
“What in the fresh hell are you three even talking about?” Gideon interjected. As if realizing she were there for the first time, the dark eyes of all three members of this conversation turned on her. Palamedes opened his mouth, presumably to explain, but was silenced by Harrow’s little angry hand.  
  
“Nav, I do not want you involved.” Harrow said coldly, and before this could be mistaken as sentimentality from the evil black bat, she added: “You’re a bumbling idiot and completely incapable of stealth.”  
  
“How do _you_ know? You’ve never seen me try, because I’m not a duplicitous wraith like you!” Gideon shot back. Cam and Pal exchanged tired looks, like two unfortunate guests at a dinner party witnessing the hosts in a domestic dispute. “Come on, I want to play spy! Tell me which bad guy to beat up on your behalf, gloom mistress.”  
  
“Griddle, this isn’t a game. And don’t call me that.” 

  
“My penumbral lady.” Gideon said stubbornly.  
  
“No-”  
  
“Melancholic matriarch.”  
  
The back and forth went on that way for a little while longer, until Harrow once again abandoned Gideon in the hands of Camilla (this time with an added Palamedes), walking solitary a few feet in front of them. The conversation died out completely, and Gideon just felt angry. She had known Harrow nearly all of their lives, it wasn’t fair that _internet friend_ Sex Pal got to know. Sure, she could ask him or Camilla, but it wasn’t the same. Besides, she could be useful! She was taller and stronger than Harrow, and thought ought to scare her because the cryptic shit was getting old fast. She would gladly trail Harrow around like a lost puppy if it meant they were doing anything more interesting than nature walks with camp counselor Mercymorn or reading the fucking bible. They were already forced into spending all their time within ten feet of one another anyway, she might as well invite Gideon into the secret spy party.  
  
**  
  
It was sometime after lunch that the campers were in store for another exciting group activity, this time led solitarily by Augustine. They had been led through the athletic area, and to a short turf field with bleachers on either side. In the center of the field was a big mesh bag of rubber balls, the kind that actually hurt to be hit with.  
  
“Dodgeball.” He said, simply, because he was obviously a sadistic prick. Gideon was starting to like him. Jeannemary, Naberius, and Corona seemed overjoyed by this opportunity for violence, while Isaac, Cam, Pal, Ianthe, and Protasilaus’s expressions ranged from indifferent to dreadful. Gideon fell in with the former, ready to hit someone in the face; it wasn’t often that a religious mentor gave one the opportunity to do so. Harrow looked withered, and Dulcinea simply wheeled herself to somewhere out of the crossfire, pulling a book out of a pocket in the back of her chair.  
  
“May I sit out, Augustine?” Harrow asked, unsurprisingly. The man frowned, but ultimately shrugged.  
  
“I can’t force you. Just go take a seat on the bleachers, and maybe when we change games you’ll feel more inclined to grace us with your participation.” She was moving before he even finished, sitting herself a few rows up, to the point where she was at head level with Gideon (and anyone else who wasn’t a tiny gremlin).  
  
The teams were split: Naberius, Ianthe, Jeannemary, Isaac, and Palamedes on one side; Camilla, Corona, Gideon, and Protasilaus on the other. They were uneven because a certain goth princess refused to get her hands dirty, or to get pelted by rubber projectiles, but that didn’t matter to Gideon. They could probably take the other team, and so she headed to her side of the field grinning.  
  
“I hope you break someone's face.” Harrow said from somewhere behind Gideon, as if reading her mind. Hopefully it would be Ianthe’s, or Naberius’. The balls were placed in the center of the field, marked by a line painted in the plastic turf, and each team stayed behind a line close to the bleachers. The field couldn’t be much longer than 50 feet, and so they were in pretty close quarters when the whistle sounded and everyone scrambled for a ball in the middle. Gideon managed to rip one out of the eager hands of Jeannemary and fell back to the edge of the field. Instantly, colorful rubber was flying through the air, going _whunk_ every time one hit the ground. Naberius was the first one out because he was frankly too broad of a target, hit in the arm by Coronabeth who celebrated with an adorable cheer. Corona was next, hit square in the chest by Palamedes while distracted by her victory. Gideon dodged and weaved, watching as Isaac fell next. She then threw, hitting Ianthe in the side of her long pallid face. She screamed, swore, and flipped Gideon off before making her way to sit out at the bleachers. Then Gideon was hit in the thigh by Jeannemary, who ended up being the winner of the first round against all odds. The kid was viciously quick.  
  
The next round went to Camilla, who was beautifully athletic and very light on her feet. When the whistle sounded for the next, Gideon scrambled for a ball and launched it at Naberius. It critically missed, and he ran after it with a plan of revenge. Jeannemary was knocked off by Protasilaus, then Palamedes hit by Corona, Ianthe by Camilla, Camilla by Isaac, and then Naberius threw hard toward Gideon. But he was going to miss, Gideon could tell from the far end of the field where she was standing. The ball would go right past her head and hit Harrow.  
  
Later she would wonder why she did it, but in that split-second as time began to slow, Gideon stepped in front of the ball and got hit square in the nose. _Whunk!_ There was an immediate explosion of pain across her cheeks and frontal sinus, and her nose began to gush blood. She yelled “ _FUCK”_ and stumbled backwards, hearing the shriek of a whistle as she cradled her face in her hands. Her sunglasses landed somewhere on the grass nearby.  
  
“Gideon! Shit, Gideon, are you okay?!” She almost didn’t recognize the voice, for the genuine concern and for using her real first name, but Harrow was at her side before anyone else was. 

“You didn’t call me Griddle.” Gideon cracked a smile, rewarded for it by a mouthful of blood. Her face was throbbing. Harrow just shook her head and took off her cardigan, bunching up the sleeve and holding it gently to Gideon’s face to staunch the bleeding. The knit fabric was soft on her face, and it smelled like Harrow did. Her front was already red soaked; it was a good thing the both of them wore black exclusively.  
  
The game ended after that, everyone waiting in the bleachers as Augustine went to fetch the camp nurse. Gideon anticipated that dodgeball was going to get a brand new rule: no headshots. In the meantime, Palamedes asked to look at Gideon’s nose, flanked as always by Camilla. Dulcinea wheeled in after them to witness the carnage.  
  
“I don’t think it’s broken, but you might have a bruise.” Palamedes said, using Harrow’s other cardigan sleeve to dab at the thinning rivulets of blood. Gideon leaned over and spat out a mouthful. It had begun to run down her throat and her mouth tasted overwhelmingly of rust and salt. It was beginning to clot and her face hurt less by the minute, but she felt like she needed to lie down. She likely had a headache coming on.  
  
“You should have just told her to duck.” Camilla said flatly, and that made Gideon laugh, which caused a fresh rush of blood down her chin.  
  
“Yes, you probably should have.” Harrow agreed quietly, still shaking her head. But they both knew Harrow probably wouldn’t have moved in time, and a ball to the head would have crushed her fragile little face bones. Gideon, obviously, was an underappreciated hero. The cardigan had been dropped in Gideon’s lap, warm and wet with her blood. She hoped Camp Mithraeum had a washing machine somewhere.  
  
Harrow came to sit cross legged in front of Gideon, face knit into a concerned frown. With hesitation, she carefully took Gideon’s face in her hands to look at the damage, turning it one way and then the other, black lips in a tight line. Her hands were still just as warm, their touch firm but tender as her gaze flickered over the reddened skin and drying blood. It probably would bruise. Gideon would have felt uncomfortable under Harrow’s critical black examination if it weren’t for the adrenaline roaring through her body after being conked. Her heart was still racing, and she briefly wondered if Harrow could feel it.  
  
When their eyes met, Gideon smiled through pink teeth and said, “I saved you, my twilit princess. I am but your brave and selfless knight. Some say that means you now owe me a token of your affection.”  
  
Harrow pulled her hands away, tracing softly along the line of Gideon’s jaw. “I already gave you my cardigan.” She then turned away, almost violently and folded her arms across her chest, looking at the ground. “Idiot.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I did that thing again where I wrote one really long chapter that needed to be split up, so this one will be a little bit shorter but the next one isn't!

When Mercy returned to find the plastic grass spattered with blood and one of her brats doubled over and having her face dabbed at with a sweater, she was furious. She fixed her hurricane gaze on Augustine as soon as he returned and went off like a landmine. Not because she gave a single shit about Gideon, whose head was pounding like a freight train from the impact, but because she was afraid of some _bitchy middle aged motherfucker coming to wreck the camp’s shit_ , which is exactly what she said, verbatim. Augustine tried telling her to calm down, to not swear in front of the impressionable and awestruck teenagers rooted to their seats in the bleachers, but Mercy simply pulled him aside to yell at him some more. In the middle of this, a slightly disoriented Gideon had an ice pack pressed to her nose by a woman who led her to be looked at in one of the rooms in the barn, which turned out to be a tiny infirmary.  
  
Once it was confirmed her nose wasn’t broken and it had finally quit gushing blood all over the place, Gideon was simply sent to go lie down in the cabin, alone. Any other time she would have used this as an opportunity to cause trouble, but her head still hurt, so she took a nap and was up and coherent in time for dinner.  
  
The only activity the next day was more bible study and another one of those silly ice breaker games, and then they were allowed free reign after dinner with the clear instructions to not get anybody else injured. Bible study that day had been individual, so Gideon hadn’t spoken to Harrow since she took a blow to the face on her behalf. It was after dinner that Gideon began to wonder if the girl was avoiding her. As soon as they were let off the leash, Harrow had immediately disappeared and wasn’t seen until lunch, where she didn’t make eye contact or say a single word to Gideon. Then after dinner, she vanished again. Gideon felt, frankly, a touch hurt about that. She at least deserved a thank-you for the bruise beginning to bloom faintly purple across her cheeks. But of course, Harrow would do anything to escape being beholden to someone. Luckily, the bruise wasn’t actually that bad and pretty soon it would fade yellow into her sunkissed tawny skin. She just thought she deserved a little sympathy, and she wanted to lord her moral high ground over her crepuscular companion for information. With no Harrow to trail, Gideon ended up at the lake behind the cabins. She wasn’t a particularly good swimmer, and the water was still chilly this time of year, but she enjoyed doing literally anything to get her mind occupied. She also enjoyed seeing Coronabeth in a swimsuit, her golden hair piled messily on the top of her head, doing laps like she’d grown up in the water.  
  
And in a rush, the day was over. They say time flies when you’re having fun, but Gideon disagreed. She was having a horrible time but time went quick anyways, and suddenly she was back on her top bunk in the dark cabin, filled with the soft sounds of people sleeping. When she checked her phone (that she had smuggled in past Aiglamene, probably for nothing because there was no service in this shithole) it was half past two in the morning. She couldn’t sleep, and had given up trying hours ago. The beds here worn and too firm, and she just couldn’t get her stupid brain to shut up. She couldn’t stop listening to the sounds of Harrowhark a few feet beneath. Gideon could hear her breathing, and the way she tossed in her blankets every so often as if making a futile attempt to get comfortable. Fabric moving against fabric, shifting her weight on the springs of her mattress. She was probably still awake, too. Gideon sat up slowly, going easy on the springs so not to wake anyone else up, and scrambled in her blankets for the bible she’d been given. She wasn’t going to call it _her_ bible, because gross. She’d left it near her feet after pretending to read it earlier. When she found it, she ripped the scribbled on flyleaf out and used the light of the windowsill to write: 

_Hey, Harrow, have you been avoiding me?_  
  
She then folded it up and leaned over the edge of the bunk, tossing the note to flutter down and land on Harrow’s face. Gideon then waited, half expecting Harrow to pretend to still be asleep, but then she heard the creaking of the other girl’s mattress. Before long, a little bony hand proffered the folded piece of paper back up, and Gideon took it eagerly.  
  
**_No, my life does not revolve around you, Griddle. I have things to take care of._ **  
  
Oh, of _course_ she did. Gideon was unconvinced, this had to be some petty Nonagesimus charade.  
  
_Yeah, and what things? What is going on with you, Pal, and Cam? What’s_ _weird_ (she underlined it very thickly) _about camp?_

She tossed the note back down, and Harrow passed it back up only a moment later.  
  
**_It does not concern you. Sextus and Hect should not have mentioned it in front of you._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** Harrow was really going to die on this hill, wasn’t she? What was there to hide, unless she really was just being paranoid and now was embarrassed about it. No, scratch that, Harrow only had two emotions and they were sorrow and rage. Whatever she’d displayed after Gideon got hit was a fluke and could not be counted.  
  
_Okay you say that but you asked me my opinion on it the other day. Whatever. Harrow, I took a ball to the face for you! Your brain would’ve exploded if that hit you! Include me, I have the high ground._ _~~Literally, get it because I’m on the top bunk~~ _ (she crossed that last bit out because it was stupid)

There was a long pause, and Gideon assumed that meant Harrow had her foot so far up her ass that it had lodged in her brain and therefore she no longer could make decisions based on facts or logic. It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity before the return of her little hand, note folded between her middle and forefingers. Gideon took it. This time the handwriting was hesitant, long gaps in the words like Harrow had struggled to find them.  
  
**_I didn’t ask you to do that for me._ **  
  
Gideon rolled her eyes and wrote back.  
  
_You didn’t have to ask. I didn’t want you to get hurt._ (it felt weird to write that out, the truth was confusing even to her) _Now quit your enigmatic bullshit act and tell me what’s going on._

Gideon heard an audible sigh from below, and there was another long pause before the piece of paper was returned.

 **_This is ridiculous, Griddle. It’s so dark I can barely see to write on this stupid piece of paper._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** Before she could think logically, like _really_ weigh the pros and cons and realize that there were almost zero pros, Gideon wrote back and tossed the paper down. Would she ever learn that her actions had consequences?   
  
_Come up here then. There’s more light on my bunk._ _  
_

Another pause, and then the sound of Harrow’s weight shifting and her blankets being pushed aside. Then Harrow, in her long black nightgown, was ascending the ladder to the top bunk without a sound. Gideon was alarmed to see her bony hands grasp the rails, half expecting to see not Harrowhark but the girl from _The Grudge_ . Her hair was too short to really hold a resemblance, though, and instead Gideon could delight in a fresher, much different panic: Harrow was in her bed. She had invited Harrow into her bed. What the fuck, why did she do that? Why did Harrow actually climb up? She was suddenly self conscious of her pajama choice, just a tank top and boxers, and scooted backwards to make room while nervously pulling the duvet up over her lower half.  
  
They sat on either end of the bed, bathed in the light of the moon. Harrow looked incredibly tired, the low light only deepening the shadows under her eyes. Gideon felt a pang of guilt at keeping Harrow from sleep, but the girl made no indication of anger as she unfolded the piece of paper again and placed it on the window sill between them. They could whisper, but Gideon worried about Mercy waking up to Harrow being in Gideon’s bunk, which would be a completely horrifying sequence of events. Gideon wasn’t sure what to do now, and when they met eyes, Harrow frowned and her gaze hesitated on Gideon’s bruised nose, before looking away. Gideon ended up taking the initiative, scooting (unwillingly) closer to the middle of the bed.  
  
_Alrighty then, gloom mistress, please regale to me the tale of your cryptic fuckery!_

When Harrow moved in closer, their knees close to touching, she rolled her eyes.  
  
**_There’s too much to explain. Be more specific._**

  
_Fine. If you haven’t been avoiding me, then what “things” have you been taking care of?_ _  
_

Gideon watched how Harrow’s brow furrowed while writing. It was odd to see her without makeup again, although this time she didn’t seem to have gotten it all off; rogue specs of mascara had settled into the creases below her eyes and there was still eyeliner smudged in her waterline. In this light, her eyes were a deep unfathomable black void and Gideon couldn’t tell where the girl’s irises ended and pupils began. Black nightgown pooling around her knees, Harrow looked like a monochromatic painting of a nun, or an off-duty mime.  
  
**_Surveillance._ **

_Oh so this_ is _a secret spy party! Elaborate, crepuscular queen._

**_Yes. This is, as you have inelegantly put it, in the realm of espionage. I have been trailing camp staff and investigating the other cabins._ **

_Okay. Creep. But why? What’s weird about camp?_ _  
_ _  
_ They had now taken to watching each other write the words. Gideon’s handwriting looked so strange next to Harrow’s. It was bigger and just as messy, but this was a symbol of collaboration between them and that was completely bizarre. 

**_I can’t tell you everything. Not like this._ ** Harrow took a long deep breath, pausing before she wrote: **_Griddle, can you trust me? Please?_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** It was a ridiculous idea for Gideon to put her trust in a girl who had broken it so many times, who had given her hell almost every day without ever explaining why. But it was _please_ that did it, and it was how vulnerable Harrow had made herself by coming up here. She was finally telling Gideon _something_ after such a long silence. It was like a wall between them was crumbling down, brick by brick. Gideon didn’t want her to build it back up again. So, she didn’t hesitate.  
  
_I can trust you, my lamentable lady._

Reading that, Harrow seemed to visibly relax. She unclenched her jaw and let her shoulders fall, shaking her head before writing a reply.  
  
**_Good. I suspect that there might be something darker going on at Camp Mithraeum and the charity that helps fund it, the Canaan House. But, as Palamedes has said, I do not have evidence. Yet._ **

_Is that why you were asking Pal about hacking computers?_ _  
_ _  
_ **_It’s not hacking. I just need to get into one without a password._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** _Okay, well, that clarifies basically fuck all. Is this really all you’re going to tell me?_ _  
_ _  
_ Harrow frowned, and Gideon was feeling frustrated. These were not the kind of fun and shocking answers she’d been looking for.  
  
**_Do you trust me?_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** Gideon rolled her eyes. She really shouldn’t.  
  
_I trust you._ _  
_ _  
_ **_Then trust that I am telling you everything I can. There is something shady going on here, I suspect it might be money related. You’ve seen the camp, it is in an incredible state of disrepair. Canaan reported millions in donations last year. It doesn’t add up. And that speaks nothing to the staff here. They simply don’t belong. I just need to keep looking._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** _Can I help? I can do stealth, Harrow._ _  
_ _  
_ **_Maybe. It may be better at the current moment to keep your involvement limited. This could be dangerous._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** _My middle name is dangerous_ _  
_ _  
_ **_No, it’s not. You don’t have one._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** _Okay, have it your way. But I want you to know that you can involve me when you need me._  
  
Gideon expected Harrow to write something mean, to tell Gideon that she would never need her, but Harrow didn’t write anything at all. She just leaned her back against the wooden railing on the side of the bed, and looked at Gideon. Her eyes glittered like black glass and, maybe it was a trick of the light, but it almost looked like she was smiling. They were sitting so close now, knees just barely touching, and Gideon had the compulsion to swipe away those little bits of mascara on Harrow’s cheeks with the pad of her thumb. She almost did, raising her hand just a fraction before she realized what she was doing, and she played it off by reaching for the paper and starting a game of tic-tac-toe. Harrow, for no reason at all, played along. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who's been so sweet with their comments!! I can't express enough how much I appreciate it. Anyways, feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	6. A complicated story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon has another weird morning and exchanges complicated life stories with Dulcinea

In the very small hours of the next morning Gideon awoke slowly, her eyes fluttering open before she was blinded by the light and closed them again. It was the kind of morning where the world felt unusually peaceful, and the bed softer and warmer than it had been when she fell asleep. The duvet had been pushed somewhere underneath her feet and the windows were drafty, but she still felt so warm. She could have lied there for the rest of the morning, forgetting where she was, blissfully unaware of the next horror she would inevitably encounter. But instead, she opened her eyes, and that next horror was right there beside her. It was Harrowhark, lying on her side and facing Gideon, so close that if she moved at all they’d be touching. In fact, to Gideon’s further horror, her knee was tucked between Harrow’s gangly legs. They _were_ touching! Harrow’s eyes were shut in a deep sleep, chest rising slowly with her wheezy little snores. She almost looked peaceful but her forehead was ever so slightly creased; apparently her anger was so bottomless that it followed her even in dreams.   
  
Gideon had to stop herself from flinching away violently and waking Harrowhark up, because it was way too early to deal with _that_ . She could imagine the other girl’s face contorting in disgust and how she would probably accuse Gideon of something vile. Sleeping beside Harrowhark Nonagesimus was like sleeping beside a tiny but significantly more evil grizzly bear, and so Gideon kept perfectly still, panicking silently. As her heart raced and the blood roared in her ears, she struggled to remember exactly how they had gotten this way. What terrific fucking Nonagesimus trickery had it been? She wracked her sleepy brain until it finally flooded back to her. Last night, passing the note between each bunk, until Gideon had the _brilliant_ idea to invite _Harrowhark_ into her _bed._ After they talked, they had played tic-tac-toe until Gideon got bored of losing. Then they played hangman, ripping new pages from the bible to use (which apparently was only a horrifying sin when _Gideon_ did it) and at some point they’d both lied down, passing the paper between each other with heavy eyes. It must have been Harrow who fell asleep first, because why would she have stayed in bed with Gideon otherwise? But Gideon didn’t remember drifting off, and she certainly didn’t remember tucking their scribbled pages back into the bible and placing it on the window sill. She did remember the feeling of comfortable camaraderie that had washed over her so late that night, lulling her into security next to her evil arch nemesis. It was a miracle she hadn’t awoken stabbed.   
  
It was early enough that none of the other girls were awake, and Gideon decided she was going to get out of there before any of them were. She fixed her eyes on Harrow, on that unguarded face, on the way her short curls stuck out in all directions, and very gently reached her hand to lift Harrow’s knee up to free her own. It was a miracle that Harrow didn’t wake up then, only scrunching her face a little deeper and letting out a sigh. Moving as slowly as possible, Gideon clambered over Harrow and down the ladder, only stopping to put on a pair of sweatpants, shove a few things into her pink toiletry bag, and slide her sunglasses up her nose before making a break out the cabin door.   
  
Back home, she went on a run around the block a few times every day before bed. It helped her relax and get tired enough to sleep, but these last few days at Camp Mithraeum she had been neglecting her workouts. This was sort of a vacation anyways, even if it was the worst one imaginable. Gideon ran now, dropping her bag off in the bathroom before taking a few laps around the camp, trying to clear her head of the peaceful way she’d felt at Harrow’s side. Of how warm she had been, of how they had actually been _touching._ Maybe this entire experience had been a fever dream, or she and Aiglamene had died in a brutal car accident on the way to camp and this was some weird fucking mind bullshit. Whatever it was, Gideon felt completely thrown off balance. The world had been spun off its axis, or she had woken up in the wrong reality. It was in that daze that she ran herself ragged, before taking a long hot shower and changing into fresh clothes (this time her shirt was much more tame, featuring a simple skull wearing sunglasses and holding its bony middle finger up). She stubbornly didn’t return to the cabin until an hour or two had passed and she knew the girls would be getting up and coming to shower. She had done up her hair, scrutinized the growing bruise on her face in the bathroom mirror (her glasses mostly covered it), and reluctantly walked back to that horrible little building.   
  
When she returned, Harrow was on her bottom bunk, picking out an outfit for the day with her little black bag in hand. Harrow didn’t look at Gideon, and Gideon tried not to look at Harrow. The Tridentarii, who Gideon had passed on the way back in, blissfully hadn’t said anything (aside from a cheerful “Good morning!” from Corona) and so Gideon hoped that meant no one had seen a damn thing. If they had, Harrow must have already threatened them into silence because there was no laughter, no weird accusations, nothing. And for that, Gideon could not be more relieved. She sagged against the bunk ladder, still feeling drowsy, and then watched morning as it happened around her. Mercy disappeared and reappeared with another mug of coffee; Camilla showered at lightning speed and was soon reading a book in her bunk, still-wet hair dripping on her grey-clad shoulders; Dulcinea dressed in another frivolous blue frock, this time accompanied with a matching wide-brimmed hat. Harrow disappeared for maybe an hour and returned with her hair washed, dark makeup applied, and another gothic-librarian ensemble: high collared shirt tucked into high-waisted trousers, wearing the cardigan which had been thankfully cleaned of Gideon’s nose-blood. Completing the tableau was a necklace and earrings that looked to be made of teeth, but Gideon never got close enough to tell for sure. Harrow was like Wednesday Addams but creepier and with none of the charm. Gideon remained rooted to her spot at the ladder, feeling very displaced and unable to keep her mind from wandering. What if she had stayed in bed a little longer, what if she had reached out and-   
  
No, that was enough of that. It was a relief when they were ushered like baby ducks to breakfast by a perpetually-tired Mercymourn.

  
  
**   
  


Harrow disappeared again after lunch, thought this time not without warning. She had pulled Gideon tersely aside and made good on including her, by explaining that she was going off to spy on Teacher and that Gideon couldn’t be included. In other circumstances, Gideon might have been mad, but right now she was content to stay put and wait for further orders. She ended up on one of the benches outside the two cabins, resting her head on her forearms and watching a table away as Palamedes and Camilla talked. They were passing a book and papers in between each other, probably working on something nerdy or God-related, so Gideon didn’t actually listen to what they were saying. She just watched the way the two stood so close and comfortable with each other, like they’d been friends for their whole lives and would remain so until they died. They would probably be buried next to each other with a joint tombstone highlighting their achievements in the world of science. She watched the way they could communicate with a glance or a nod, how Camilla poked fun at Palamedes with that flat inflection she always used, and how he playfully countered. Dulcinea had called Harrow and Gideon a matched set, but that’s what Cam and Pal were; they always dressed like off duty librarians and were rarely seen apart. Gideon wondered what it felt like to have a best friend who really got you, who understood you more than you understood yourself, who fit into all those horrible vacant places in your heart. The person she had known the longest, nearly all of her life, was Harrow. But Harrow had hated Gideon for so many years that all they knew of each other was how to fight, how to read the hurt in each other’s eyes, how to prod each other in their sore spots until someone bled or cried, how to make life hell. What Cam and Pal had was painfully domestic, and what good Harrow and Gideon had once was smothered in its infancy. 

Dulcinea, back in her wheelchair today, rolled herself up to Palamedes’ table to join the conversation. Without a word, he took his jacket off and draped it across her delicate shoulders, and Camilla moved to make room for her in the discussion. His hand lingered on her back for a moment, and then he returned to gesturing at the book and Camilla, obviously struggling to get his point across. Dulcie made a joke and even Camilla laughed. It was strange to observe, the way the tiny grey group opened itself to let the girl in the wheelchair in. Gideon wasn’t sure that Cam and Dulcie were friends on their own, because she’d never seen them interact without Palamedes there, but when Dulcinea exploded into a fit of violent, hacking coughs from laughing at her own joke, it was Camilla who patted her hard on the back until she spat a bloody ball of phlegm into Palamedes’ open hand. He did not react as a normal person would have to being spat on, which should have been unabashed disgust; he just politely excused himself to go wash his hands, waving away Dulcinea’s frantic apologies.   
  
Camilla picked the book back up and squinted at it, shoulders tensing a fraction, as if she were unsure how to interact with Dulcinea without Palamedes there to bring them together, like they were planets with nothing to orbit around. Dulcinea must have sensed this, because without a word she rolled herself away and towards Gideon’s table, greeting her with a warm smile. Gideon raised her head, returning the smile as Dulcinea eased herself into the side of the table, resting her fragile arms on the wooden surface. She was so thin, skin nearly transparent with that colorful roadmap of prominent veins looking like fireworks going off in her bones.   
  
“What’s with you and Palamedes?” Gideon asked. Pal had returned from the bathroom and took his seat again beside Camilla, his eyes lingering on Dulcie. After a moment, the two of them gathered their things up and headed in the direction of the lake, Sextus waving towards Dulcinea before disappearing into the trees.   
  
Dulcinea returned that wave and said, hesitantly, “We’re close.”   
  
“Yeah, that’s what Camilla said.” Gideon replied, and Dulcinea raised a delicate eyebrow at the way irritation seeped into the words.   
  
“It’s just a complicated story.” Dulcie seemed amused.   
  
“Sorry, I don’t want to pry. You don’t have to tell me anything, you barely know me.” Gideon corrected herself.

The brunette was silent for a moment, rearranging her hat on top of those short curls, before she leaned in and said, “I’ll answer your question, Gideon, if you answer one of mine.” Her blue eyes sparkled conspiratorially.   
  
Gideon shrugged. “Sure, I’m an open book.” And Dulcinea smiled again. The petite girl readjusted in her chair and leaned back, looking at the spot in the trees the two grey nerds had disappeared into.   
  
“We became penpals when we were young, he was eight I think. It was one of those things schools sometimes like to do where they connect a student with a kid who’s disabled or in the hospital often, so they have a friend. Most of the kids quit writing to their penpal after a few letters, but we really hit it off. Eventually we moved to talking online or over the phone. We met in person a few times in our early teens, when he begged his parents to drive him to my part of the city.” Dulcinea was smiling, with a faraway look in her eyes.

“So far, this story isn’t very complicated.” Gideon observed humorously, and Dulcie waved a delicate hand to silence her.   
  
“Well, I’m getting there. I’m sure you’ve noticed that my health isn’t exactly great,” she had begun to fidget with a ruffle on her sleeve. “I’m terminally ill. My doctors have always said I’d never live past 25. And I have made my peace with that, but he-” She shook her head, smile turning rueful, “Palamedes didn’t want to accept that, he always said he wanted to become a doctor and help me with my condition. He’s not that naive these days, but his passion for medical sciences stems from that, and I know he’s still planning to try.” She exhaled a great, wheezing sigh. Gideon felt uncomfortably sad all of a sudden, knowing that the sweet girl beside her had to grow up knowing her expiration date would come much sooner than it should have. That Dulcinea would die so soon and no one could do a single thing about it.   
  
“He has said he loves me a hundred times, and I have said it back because I do - love him.” She cleared her throat wetly, “I just don’t want him to throw his youth away on me, he always says he wants to stay by my side so at least I'll be cared for and comfortable in my final days. But I have my family for that. I just think he deserves to be with someone who can stick by him for the rest of his life, someone like-” The two nerds reemerged from the path then, this time heading in the direction of Palamedes’ cabin. Dulcinea’s blue gaze followed Camilla.   
  
“Camilla is a saint.” She said. “She follows him everywhere he asks her to, she followed him here. And he came here for me: my doctors thought that the country air would be good for my lungs, and he worried that I might not have anyone here to advocate for my care. I don’t think he even had to ask her to come along. She would probably follow him to the ends of the earth, and he knows that. She isn’t unappreciated. She’s his entire world, and he can make such a fuss over her sometimes.” Dulcinea looked tired now, folding her arms in her lap and slouching back in her chair.   
  
“Does Camilla like him that way?” Gideon interjected, and Dulcinea’s smile was back.   
  
“You know, I’m not actually sure. I’ve never asked her. We don’t really talk, not without Pal around anyway. And she’s very intimidating.”   
  
“Yeah, they definitely seem close. I haven’t seen her speak more than a few words to anyone else but Harrow.” Gideon agreed that Camilla was intimidating, but she wasn’t going to say that out loud.   
  
“That’s the understatement of the decade. They’ve been joined at the hip since diapers, practically. Their families are friends. For the longest time, I never thought I’d be able to invade their little bubble, insert myself into the dynamic like I belonged. Sometimes I still feel like I can’t, but Palamedes always wants me there, and if Camilla doesn’t like it she makes no indication. At least, not to me.”   
  
“Well, Camilla doesn’t seem big on complaining. She must be very practiced in the art of sucking the hell up.” Gideon observed.   
  
“Oh, don’t say that! I’ll worry that she hates me!” Dulcinea wailed and began to laugh, which then turned into a discreet coughing fit. Luckily, there was no back-patting and phlegm catching this time. When the coughing and laughter was gone, Dulcinea looked pensive. “I think she must love him, though. She wouldn’t stick by him that way if she didn’t.” And she spoke with such an ancient dignity, the dignity of someone who had known she was dying all her life, someone who had learned to grieve too early.   
  
Gideon wasn’t quite sure what to say, except that Dulcinea had been right about the story being complicated. No wonder Camilla, woman of few words, hadn’t wanted to be the one to explain it to Gideon. Especially when she herself was caught in the middle of it all. She settled on not saying anything, and for a little while they just sat there in thoughtful silence, listening to the way the wind filtered through the trees and feeling the sun on their faces.   
  
Eventually it was Dulcinea who spoke, with a surprising amount of energy for a dying woman who had just finished reciting her complicated romantic life story and hacking up a lung. “Alright then, I spilled my guts. It’s your turn.” She smiled that conspiratorial smile, and Gideon began to worry.   
  
“Okay then, shoot.” Gideon said.   
  
Dulcinea’s ocean eyes were sparkling with mirth now, her smile growing. “Gideon, why was Harrowhark sleeping in your bed with you last night?”   
  
Once again, the world spun off its axis, it crumbled. Panic rose in her chest and she felt her face grow hot. Fuck. Shit. Everyone had seen. Her reputation was ruined, everyone was going to think she actually _liked Harrow_ , her arch-nemesis, her rival, the antagonist in her life’s story. The evil little stickbug who always showed back up when she least suspected.   
  
“Who else saw?!” Gideon said hysterically, whipping her head around as if trying to locate their fellow cabin-mates, but they were alone.   
  
“You’re so dramatic!” Dulcinea had a satisfied look on her face. If her intention had been to embarrass the hell out of Gideon, she was getting exactly what she wanted. “I was the first one awake, I saw you climb over her and leave, and then later I saw her climb down and act like she was still sleeping in her bunk.” The girl could hardly suppress her mirth. “Calm down, Gideon. I don’t think anyone else saw her, she was back in her own bed well before anyone could notice.” This relieved Gideon a bit, but her face continued to burn.   
  
“It’s not what it looked like.” Gideon said, lamely, burying her face in her hands. This was probably the end of the world. Fuck bible camp.   
  
“Oh, of course. Because it looked like you were cuddling with someone you have vehemently denied being friends with.” She was really enjoying this, Gideon felt like a tortured animal.   
  
“We aren’t friends! She’s my enemy! I hate her, she hates me, that’s how it’s always been.”   
  
That only made Dulcinea giggle. “That explains it. You jumped in front of a dodgeball and got your face smashed for the girl you hate, and then you called her your _twilit princess_ and you her _knight_ because you hate her. Makes perfect sense to me.”   
  
Gideon sighed, running her fingers through the back of her hair. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” She said stubbornly.   
  
“Oh, but Gideon, you _do._ You promised me you’d answer my question, you’re _an open book_ , remember?” This had all been a trap, sly conniving Dulcinea had lured her in with the promise of gossip and had sprung on Gideon the moment she let her guard down. Fuck.   
  
“You’re evil.” Gideon sighed deeply, refusing to meet Dulcie’s amused gaze. “Fine, fuck. You caught me, I was getting answers out of her via note passing last night. Something about a conspiracy or whatever, I’m not going to get into that now, Palamedes doesn’t even think she’s right-” She was floundering. “I told her to come up to my bunk where there was more light so she could write it all down. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, especially not next to _her._ And we _weren’t_ cuddling!” She was reminded of her knee tucked between Harrow’s spindly legs and felt flustered. She tried not to think of Harrow’s unguarded expression, the gentle way her chest rose and fell, how close she had come to reaching for her.   
  
“You two have such a weird dynamic.” Dulcinea remarked. “Let me guess, another complicated story?” To this, Gideon let out a short and joyless laugh.   
  
“Yeah, kind of. Probably not as complicated as you, Cam, and Pal, though.”   
  
“Well, I told you mine. Will you tell me yours?” Dulcinea’s eyes were softer now, and the way she spoke gentler. Gideon shrugged, resigned. She kind of had no choice.   
  
Gideon had never really put it to words before, the things that had passed between her and Harrow over the years. She never had anybody to tell, because Aiglamene was Aiglamene, and the teachers and counselors who had to rip them apart when their fights got bloody only cared long enough to separate them. But here was her perfect audience: a dying girl who she barely knew, who was so open with Gideon because she had learned how honesty works along with sorrow, and who was kind to her for no reason at all.   
  
“Well, we’ve known each other almost forever. We met in elementary school, although now that I think about it, it must’ve been earlier than that. We were best friends for years after that, she used to follow me around like a lost puppy.” Gideon felt a smile growing on her lips when she considered those early years. “Back then, she was the best thing in my life. But when her parents died, she changed.” The joy left her voice now and her shoulders hung low. “She just wasn’t the same person anymore, she got mean and violent. She once scratched my face completely bloody after an argument, I’m surprised it didn’t scar. For about a year I tried so hard to keep being her friend, convincing myself that she would get better soon and things could get back to the way they were, but they didn’t. She didn’t.”   
  
Dulcinea had remained placid while Gideon gave words to the horrible hole in her heart that Harrow had ripped so many years ago, and she didn’t say anything at all, so Gideon talked more to fill the silence.   
  
“Eventually, I just started to hate her too. I think it got worse after that for a while, teachers used to have to pull us off each other on the playground because punches were being thrown, or I was holding her down and spitting on her. When high school came, we grew up a little bit and stopped fighting physically because neither of us really wanted to get expelled. After that we just fought with our words, trying to get one over on each other. That’s what the nicknames are, I call her them because it embarasses her and it’s hilarious. I don’t like her, I couldn’t. She doesn't have a heart.” When she finished talking, Gideon felt like she’d just run a marathon. Her heart was still beating fast and she was completely exhausted. Talking about feelings was stupid and hard, no wonder she never did it.   
  
Finally, Dulcinea spoke. “That is complicated.” She seemed to be thinking hard about this, her eyes darting over Gideon like trying to read the things she hadn’t said. “I don’t think she hates you, maybe not completely.”   
  
“Yeah, and what makes you say that? She’s said it enough times.”   
  
“Well, if she hated you she wouldn’t have practically dove after you when you got hit in the face, she wouldn’t have let you bleed all over her sweater. She wouldn’t have looked so scared.” Dulcinea looked at Gideon then like she had read her thoughts and knew secrets she didn’t even know she was keeping. “And I don’t think you’d have taken that hit if you hated her.”   
  
Gideon just groaned, laying her head on the table. “I don’t know anymore, Dulcinea. This place is weird. Everything that’s happening is weird. I think I died on the way here and everything after that has been some fucked up mirage.”   
  
Dulcinea just laughed that bell-like laugh, patting her on the shoulder gently. “Well, if this is all a hallucination, I’m glad to have been a part of it.”   
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really fun to write so I really hope everyone likes it! Also shoutout to you, lampcat/suspishish for commenting "evil stickbug" on chapter 2 because I had to steal that. As always, feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	7. I hate you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it began and how it went wrong.

Gideon Nav and Harrowhark Nonagesimus became friends first out of proximity, or maybe necessity, as they were always the last two children to be picked up from pre-k. Gideon was four and Harrow was three, and it was always the two of them standing side by side on the curb under the watchful eye of their teacher. They waited for Harrow’s mother in her long black sedan and Gideon’s foster mom at the time, who was always late because she had an incredibly intense job, which was ultimately the reason why she gave Gideon up after only a year. And that was a shame, because she had been nice.  
  
They stood silently at first and when they talked it was because little Gideon talked first; she’d always been a social butterfly prone to shouting which scared poor little Harrowhark for so long. Harrow was shy, hiding her face in the stuffed rabbit she always brought from home, but Gideon was persistent. Children always had an uncomplicated approach to friendship because they were still learning how, so it was as easy as sharing the same favorite color, or being paired together for an assignment, or always being the last two kids left after the rest had gone home. It wasn’t long before they inched closer together, holding hands and babbling on about nothing, about kid shit, because they were so young and so new and had nothing much to talk about yet.  
  
Harrow began to trail Gideon everywhere after that, still so hesitant at first as if afraid that what bloomed between them was tenuous and Gideon would willingly shatter it. She came out of her shell before long, and then it was the two of them in concert running around and causing trouble: Gideon watching with fascination as Harrow caught bugs and poked at them, Harrow cheering as Gideon climbed the tallest trees she could find, and she was always there to call a teacher when Gideon inevitably fell back down. Gideon kept the bullies away from Harrow, and Harrow slipped her test answers in secret. They were inseparable, best friends in a perfect world built just for them with their grubby little hands. They were a perfect little team and they could have taken over the world if they tried. It went on that way for years, the girls only growing closer and more similar as the time passed: like the edges between them blurred as they began to pick parts of each other to keep as their own. 

When Gideon had been eleven and Harrowhark ten, things changed irreparably. They were both in 5th grade and Gideon was already so much taller and stronger than Harrow, even then. Her hair was much longer, too, cut bluntly with craft scissors to her chin when Aiglamene wouldn’t take her for a haircut. Harrow still dressed in color and the girls could trace constellations into the freckles on one another’s cheeks. It was on a Friday in September that the two of them waited, just like they used to do when they were so much younger, on the curb of the carpool lane waiting to see Harrow’s parents’ car or Aiglamene’s old beater of a truck. But they were late, so the girls ended up sitting under a tree. Harrowhark laid her head on Gideon’s lap as they talked, and Gideon played with her hair. Harrow’s face was a lot softer then, with a roundness to her cheeks and a light in her eyes. They talked about school, about the homework Harrow had already finished that Gideon begged to copy off of, about movies, music, of books that Harrow had read, and of Gideon’s very epic win that Wednesday when she played soccer after school with some other kids. What they didn’t talk about was home because everything they could say had been said to death already.  
  
When the parking lot was empty of almost every car and after some of the after-school activities had already been let out, Gideon finally heard the rattle of the truck Aiglamene drove back then as she parked in the front lot. Another car pulled in beside hers, a nicer and much newer SUV, and Gideon was struck with panic at the recognition. Aiglamene got out of her car slowly, hesitant, not looking at Gideon. She waited as Ms. Julia, Gideon’s social worker, joined her before they walked towards the two unsuspecting girls. It had happened so many times before but it still always hurt when Julia knelt down in front of Gideon and very gently told her that her foster family didn’t want her anymore and she was being moved somewhere else that day. Everything she had ever owned would be packed up in big black trash bags in the back of Julia’s car, and if something had been left behind she would never see it again. It wasn’t her social worker’s fault of course, Julia was a wonderful woman and she tried so hard for Gideon, against all odds making sure she could stay in the same school district where her best friend was to keep at least some stability in her terribly tumultuous life. She couldn’t remember how many foster families she had been through at that point, but it was too many, and somehow it still never got easier. Gideon’s hands froze on Harrow’s head and she began to shake as the two women approached, promising herself that this time she wouldn’t cry. But Ms. Julia wasn’t there for her.  
  
“Hey, Harrowhark,” they had met before, and it was Ms. Julia’s bad-news tone that had Harrow hesitantly sitting up and watching the woman with wide eyes as she knelt down in front of her. “I need to speak with you for a moment, would you come with me please?” With a cautious glance toward Gideon, Harrow stood and followed the social worker away. Gideon was at first filled with some perverse sense of relief at knowing that it wasn’t her this time, she wasn’t the kid being returned like defective merchandise, maybe Aiglamene would want her for a little while longer. The worry came as she watched the two of them. Julia stopped when they were still visible but out of earshot and Gideon watched the woman’s mouth move, face knit up in that perfectly constructed frown she had practiced on a hundred other kids. Harrow’s eyes grew wide and she began to tremble, and before long she was crying while the social worker held her. It was then that Aiglamene told Gideon that the Harrow’s parents had both died suddenly that day and she was coming to stay with them for a while.  
  
It wasn’t permanent, but Harrow became a part of the system while custody was sorted out. Her parents had written in their will that her guardianship would fall to her great aunts, but they were both blind and impossibly old. Ms. Julia had been assigned her case by chance, and called Aiglamene that day to ask if she were willing to take in Harrow for a few days while they found someone else to take her. Ms. Julia knew that the two were best friends and thought it would be good for Harrow to have that support in her time of grief. Of course Aiglamene agreed, and so it was the backseat of her old truck that both girls finally left in that day, Harrowhark’s entire world newly collapsed.  
  
For Gideon, it started like every sleepover they’d had over the years. They spent the night as often as possible and because of that Gideon had begged Aiglamene for a bunk bed. The woman relented, and after that Gideon had always kept the bottom bunk made up for Harrow: with all the softest blankets and pillows, sometimes hiding candies under them for her best friend to find. They would always stay up late talking, watching movies on the ancient tube tv in Gideon’s room, more often than not both falling asleep together on that bottom bunk. But when they got to Aiglamene’s house, Harrow didn’t want to do any of that. She just laid down on her bunk and stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars Gideon had stuck on the mattress above. Aiglamene said that Harrow needed space and time, but Gideon was too young and too stupid to know how to give her any of that. She knew about dead parents because her mom had passed when she was only a day old, and she told Harrow exactly as much, but Harrow just said it wasn’t the same thing and that made Gideon angry. 

Harrow was only at Gideon’s for a few days before it was finally settled that she would be looked after by Crux, a close family friend, who would move in with her and take care of Harrowhark and her trust fund until she turned eighteen, when she would inherit the house and all of her family’s assets. It was only a few days, but it only took that few for their years of friendships to crumble like ash through Gideon’s fingers.  
  
The first time that Harrow told Gideon _“I hate you”_ was the very second night that she spent in that house, when Gideon kept leaning over the side of the top bunk to talk to Harrow when all she wanted was to be left alone. Gideon was stubborn and persistent and before long Harrow was shouting at her to _just shut up!_ But they were both still children and Gideon hadn’t learned how to stop talking, and she never really did.  
  
“ _I hate you!_ ” Harrow had screamed, covering her face with her hands to hide the tears which stung her cheeks and only made her angrier. And then it was Gideon’s world that collapsed because she’d gone without real parents and she’d gone without knowing if she’d ever really be wanted or needed or loved, but she couldn’t go on without Harrowhark. Harrow was the best thing in her life and had been for so many years that it became hard to recall what living was like before that. She was her first ever friend, her rock, her foundation. Gideon didn’t know who she was without her best friend there beside her and now all of a sudden she had to learn to cope with this brand new and bottomless hurt.  
  
Grief made Harrow angry and mean and violent, and she built hasty walls to keep Gideon out, sealing the part of her that could love away forever. She learned to hate the sound of Gideon’s voice just as quickly as she had learned that it was something she couldn’t live without. That was the way that Harrow learned to hate every single thing about her, the easy way she smiled, her stupid jokes, her stupid face. When the screaming got loud that night Aiglamene had separated them, carrying Gideon out as she cried so hysterically that her entire body shook and her nose started to bleed, leaving Harrow alone to her misery.  
  
When the girls returned to school after that weekend, the damage was permanent. Gideon had tried to be there, tried to take the advice of the school counselor on how to be supportive, and she kept trying for an entire year after that. She trailed Harrowhark endlessly, and so the second time Harrow said _“I hate you”_ was only a few months later when Gideon had come to sit beside her on the grass. She sat too close and spoke too easily, trying just to ask Harrowhark about her day and tell her about what had happened on the playground earlier.  
  
When Gideon leaned against Harrow’s shoulder like she always used to, Harrow shoved her away and screamed: “Get away from me, you freak! _I hate you!_ ” and she said it again so many more times after that. She never stopped saying it, and eventually Gideon gave up on following Harrow to comfort her and started following her for an entirely different reason.  
  
The first time Gideon told Harrow _“I hate you”_ was midway into the year in 6th grade, in gym class, when Harrow had stuck her little leg out to trip her and she fell face first into the dirty tile floor. By then, Gideon had cut her hair much shorter and both girls had started to dress in all black, Harrow’s eyes perpetually smudged with eyeliner to accentuate those dark circles which only deepened with age.  
  
She was back on her feet immediately, pulling Harrow up by her shirt collar to punch her, screaming “ _I hate you!”_ as she finally gave up on seeing anything good in Harrow. That beautiful spark of a girl she’d known had been smothered and Gideon could never coax an ember back. She was evil, and heartless, and cruel, and she would never get better no matter how hard Gideon tried. She couldn’t keep trying because Harrow never let her, because Harrow had thrown the first hit, because Harrow had said it first. And so she never stopped saying it.  
  
The girls grew in different directions after that, twisted over each other like knobbled old trees. Harrow became entrenched in her studies and slept seldom, spending every waking hour she had studying at home or tucked in the back of the library. She no longer needed Gideon’s protection from bullies because she became one to Gideon, and nobody could watch what Harrow could do to her without learning she was worthy of their fear. Gideon’s grades dropped as soon as she no longer had Harrow to copy off of, and she continued to be a slack-off for many years after that. She wasn’t stupid, she just didn’t try as hard as she could have tried, instead occupying her brain with comics and porn and gay thoughts. She began to persue sports and work out, to spend time wooing any pretty girl she could with those biceps she never shut the fuck up about. They still clashed violently though the rest of elementary and middle school, leaving each other bloody, bruised, and scarred. They set traps, pulled elaborate and hateful pranks, so that they learned to always keep on their toes and anticipate what was next. Paranoia was a learned trait and they had taught it to each other. Despite the hatred which never seemed to stop growing, they were permanent fixtures in each other’s lives. Gideon had begged Aiglamene to let her change schools but Aiglamene firmly believed that Gideon needed to learn to deal with her problems head on. But the only way they dealt with it was violence and in high school began to sabotage each other in different, worse ways. Harrow had cut the sleeves off Gideon’s varsity jacket, and had been horrified when Gideon seemed to like wearing it _more_ like that. Gideon ruined Harrow’s favorite pair of boots by stealing them from her locker and running them over with her car. Harrow falsely accused Gideon of cheating on her History final and so she failed the class and had to retake it. Gideon had splashed red paint all over the art project that Harrow had worked painstakingly on for months. To get back at her for that one, Harrow had slashed Gideon’s tires, and so Gideon keyed Harrow’s car. It was a continuous back and forth with them, always trying to one-up each other in that horrible dance they shared.  
  
The last time Gideon told Harrow _“I hate you”_ had been in the last semester in her Junior year, less than a month before Gideon had been sent off to suffer at the relentless hands of bible camp. It was after Harrow had discovered the glitter bomb Gideon had set in her locker, wrecking the absolute shit out of both Harrow’s outfit and her nearly-completed final project for AP Chem. When she left the school building, sparkling rainbow and overflowing with rage, Gideon was waiting there for her under the shade of a tree with a triumphant grin on her face. In depth of the ocean tones, fists clenched, Harrow had asked her _why._  
  
Gideon had told her, “Because I completely fucking hate you. No offense.”  
  
In retaliation, Harrow had broken into Gideon’s laptop ( _password: g69nav420_ ) and had deleted the word document containing her final English paper, the one thing Gideon had decided to give a shit about that entire year. She then stole the physical copy from Gideon’s backpack and burned it in front of her in the parking lot, while a gaggle of other students watched in stunned silence. Gideon had blown up, screaming curses and threats, but Harrow had only responded when she finally asked, why.  
  
And she had told Gideon, “Because I completely fucking _hate_ you. No offence.”

It was then that Gideon had nearly punched Harrow, but she hadn’t done so since they were pre-teens and was afraid of how far a single punch could take her if she let it. Instead she had just stood there, watching her hard work burn, wondering how it had gotten this way. Gideon had other friends over the years, but never another _best_ friend. Not in the way Harrow had been to her. She had been a part of her heart, her soul, her everything, but Harrow cut those parts out when she left, scorching everything barren in between. They had destroyed so much of each other and in some twisted, dreadful way, that was why they always came back. It was all they had. Gideon was afraid of a life without Harrow, that omnipresent black smudge at the corner of her mind, even when the life with her was misery.  
  
Their classmates knew to give them a wide berth with each other, to keep out of the splash zone and witness the carnage from afar. It was widely believed that they would eventually kill each other, although some sick fucks (Ianthe) thought they just needed to bone and get it over with. They were always fighting, kicking and screaming and trying to rip each other apart, all because of that first _I hate you,_ and then the second, and third, and then the hundred more that came after that.

But at the end of it all nobody won, because every night Gideon fell asleep thinking about Harrow, and Harrow fell asleep thinking about Gideon, because neither girl could ever get over what a horrible burning wreckage their lives had become, smashed together so violently that they could never be pulled apart again. Maybe it would be like that forever.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write to date, so I hope everyone likes it!! Also, it might be a bit longer between chapters this time because I had the last 3 fully planned out, but now I have a lot of ideas I want to use and need to decide which to do next. So basically, if there's more than a day between updates this time it's not because I'm dead, I'm just thinking really hard about this bible camp AU. As always, feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	8. Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrow continues her argument with Palamedes and asks Gideon to help her break into a locked office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I interrupt your regularly scheduled chapter to briefly mention that the wonderful TheLockedTomb wrote a fantastic one-shot fic inspired by Camp Mithraeum and this AU concept and you should absolutely read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26334295) if you haven't already!

Sitting, elbows resting against the terribly abrasive wooden bench outside of those appallingly managed cabins, Harrowhark rubbed at her temples in irritation. It was still early in the afternoon, making this her fifth agonizing day at Camp Mithraeum, having hardly any more information than when she’d first arrived. Palamedes could not possibly comprehend the urgency of the situation because he was too busy being an absolute buffoon over that dreadfully amiable girl in the wheelchair who frankly spent too much time fraternizing with Griddle.   
  
“I know what I saw, Sextus. I just need to examine it closer-”   
  
“Why would any half-intelligent maligned organization leave their burn book sitting where any kid could walk by and see it? You said you saw it through a window, it’s possible you simply misread.” Palamedes was sitting across from her, Camilla at his side, examining her critically with those luminous grey eyes.   
  
“Their lack of forethought and confidentiality is not my burden to bear. I’m offended you would doubt my perception, haven’t we been friends long enough for you to realize I’m thorough?” It had been a few years since Harrow had allowed Sextus, and later Hect, to enter her life despite her reservations. The pair had proven to be intelligent, trustworthy, and unexpectedly kind, but at the moment she was regretting ever meeting them. Anyone who might allude to her being incorrect was not worth keeping around, she could do this by herself. She had thought she could trust Palamedes to fall on the side of reason, but he was proving to be compromised.   
  
For his part, Palamedes sighed and folded his hands under his chin. “This isn’t me doubting your intelligence, Nonagesimus, this is me asking for more proof before jumping prematurely to baseless conclusions. I agree with you, the camp is in shambles and the staff seem poorly trained, but that doesn’t mean there is evil lurking here. It is simply mismanaged.” He took to cleaning his glasses on his shirt for the fourth time this conversation, fixing those piercing eyes directly on hers. Harrowhark would not back down. “Frankly I have no idea how you got these ideas in the first place.” He said, dismissively. She was infuriated. Of course he didn’t understand, he wouldn’t. He was a moron wearing rose-colored glasses, too preoccupied with his upcoming college applications and waiting hand and foot on Dulcinea. Palamedes Sextus always had a preoccupation for the details, ignoring the big picture even when it was glaringly obvious.   
  
“You are a fool, Sextus. I thought better of you.” Harrow said, beginning to chew the lipstick off her lower lip in anger.   
  
“I’m sorry to hear that, Harrow. I will be happy to reexamine this topic if you can come up with anything to authenticate your suspicions.” He replied in that irritating scholarly tone, as if he were explaining something very simple to a particularly dense child. Camilla had begun to examine her fingernails, thoroughly bored with what had become a repetitive argument over the last few days. 

“Let’s change the subject.” Camilla said flatly, and Palamedes looked relieved.   
  
Through gritted teeth, Harrow replied, “Fine. What do you deem worthy of our attention, Hect?” Her voice was absolutely dripping with vexation in that way she had practiced on Gideon all their lives.   
  
She could have sworn that the edge of Camilla’s lips quirked up just a fraction as she said it, betraying amusement in her well-oiled poker-face. “You hate Gideon, why were you sleeping in the same bed yesterday night?”   
  
Harrow remembered every detail of that night because she had been replaying it in her head ever since, a ceaseless loop which she agonized over, memorizing the sequence of events to make sure that they had actually been real. She remembered how Gideon had pushed her to admit the truth, and how she amicably settled for what she could get when she ought to have been furious with her. How she had told Harrow she trusted her, twice, when she had never done anything to be worthy of it. She remembered how Gideon had fallen asleep first, bible and flyleaf scattered between them, and how she had stayed there beside her until she fell asleep also. Harrow thought about leaving, but she was hypnotized by the peaceful way Gideon had looked when she slept. Red hair in messy tufts sticking to her forehead, mouth hanging open a faction; she had been so completely vulnerable in a way that Harrowhark envied. She had stayed there, watching the face of the girl she had hated for so many years, who had been giving Harrow chance after undeserved chance from the beginning. She knew deep in her heart she hadn’t earned that because there was nothing good in her, maybe there never had been. Harrow ought to have been trampled underfoot, tossed off that top bunk, cut out of Gideon Nav’s life mercilessly. She didn’t deserve the myriad of chances she had been given those years ago, the ones she was still being given, but she thought maybe this time she would finally take it.   
  
“We were not.” was what Harrow said, her voice flat, her careful composure keeping the tornado of emotions down in her gut.   
  
“I saw you.” Camilla replied.   
  
Palamedes was laughing, taken aback, “Now this I did not expect!” 

“You saw wrong.”   
  
“Oh, no, Camilla never sees wrong.” said Palamedes, grinning. 

Harrow opened her mouth to give a scathing rebuttal, but she was interrupted by the most abominable sound in recorded history, the voice of Gideon Nav. As always, she appeared at the most inopportune time.   
  
“Oh, hey it’s the nerd patrol!” Said the golden-eyed nuisance, wearing that irritatingly crooked grin as she approached their table. What passed as fashion in her incomprehensibly tiny brain today was black jean-shorts and a band tee which Gideon had mutilated into a tank top with open sides, exposing the black sports bra she wore underneath. She was displaying a completely horrifying amount of exposed golden skin. Harrowhark was astonished that the girl hadn’t been completely excoriated by any of the camp counselors or even their fellow campers, this was a godly environment after all.   
  
“Oh, hello Gideon.” Palamedes was still laughing, and Harrow wanted to punch it out of him. “We were just talking about you.”   
  
“We expressly were not.” Harrow lied, feeling her heart begin to quicken at the idea of discussing this with anyone, let alone her. It terrified her. This was too tenuous to put to words and Harrow did not want to hear them from the mouth of Gideon Nav.   
  
“Of course you were, how could you not be? I mean, look at me!” Gideon flexed both of those perfectly sculpted, unnecessary biceps. Camilla simply rolled her eyes. When she finished the gun show, Gideon quirked her stupid aviator sunglasses down her nose and winked right at Harrow. She always felt so completely arrested when she looked into Gideon’s eyes, they were like gold coins or honey, like hot tea, and she did not deserve to be looked at by them so jovially. For Harrow, they ought to hold nothing but contempt and disgust.   
  
“We weren’t talking about you.” Harrow said again, as if repeating it would make it true and save her from the nightmare of having to explain herself to any of them. “We were talking about Camp Mithraeum and its secrets.”   
  
With a shrug, Gideon sat down beside Harrow and in front of Camilla. She was so close to Harrow again, who could count the amount of times they’d been this close in a way that didn’t beget hostility on one hand, and that closeness was terrifying to her. She was petrified, back straight as a ruler, body compacted, crossing one knee over the other to make sure their legs couldn’t touch.   
  
“Or lack thereof.” said Camilla, who would back Palamedes with anything no matter how frivolous and transparently incorrect.   
  
“Oh, spy party time!” Gideon said, grin only growing as she leaned her elbows into the wood. “Or are you going to send me away now, my shadowy queen?” Harrow bristled at the nickname. She had called her a hundred more like it over the last year or two, but it was the unmistakable affection in Gideon’s voice that sent her mind into a panic.   
  
“Perhaps I will require your assistance in this instance, Griddle, but I shall not discuss it in front of them.” Harrowhark said, glaring pointedly at Palamedes.   
  
“Oh, what? Are you afraid we’d try to stop you?” Palamedes asked.   
  
“Yes.” Harrow stood up in a swish of black fabric, grabbing Gideon by the arm before she could protest.   
  
“Oh shit! It’s for real spy party time!” Gideon said, following after Harrow as she stomped in the direction of the trees. Sextus and Hect mercifully didn’t follow and Harrow was relieved because violence would probably come between the continuation of their friendship.   
  
“Stop calling it that, Nav. You couldn’t be serious if your life depended on it, and it very well might.”   
  
“Is that a threat?”   
  
“More of a warning.” Harrow muttered, leading them deep into a grove of birch, hopefully off the beaten path enough that no one could follow or overhear. When they stopped, Gideon came to rest with her back against one of the trees, ankles crossed over one another with her arms up over her head. This left much of her torso exposed, shirt rippling loosely in the breeze. Harrow looked away.   
  
“Alright, spill the beans, my sweet. Who’re we gonna kill?” She spoke so easily and Harrow hated that, she hated how Gideon lacked a filter and always said what was on her mind. She hated that Gideon was talking to her at all.   
  
“We aren’t going to kill anyone, you’re being absurd, Griddle. What we’re going to do is break into a locked office.” That got Gideon’s attention, refocusing her eager smile and her leisurely posture into something more attentive, poised to act.   
  
“Go on.” Gideon prompted.   
  
Harrow took one deep breath in, out, and smoothed out the plan in her head before speaking. “Remember the other night when I told you that I had been conducting surveillance on some of the camp staff?”   
  
“Yep, creep.” Gideon said instantly, smirking again. “What about it?”   
  
“Yesterday afternoon I observed Teacher in his office through the front window, and in one of the drawers there are a dozen file folders and a notebook. When I looked again, less than an hour ago, the book was open on his desk. I suspect it may contain incriminating information.”   
  
“Isn’t that a little obvious though? Why would an evil villain leave that shit lying around for any old snoop to find?” It was the same point that Palamedes had made but Harrow was not going to acquiesce. It could not perturb her, she would retrieve the evidence very soon.   
  
“Because the evil villain has become complacent. The reasons do not matter, we must take advantage of this opportunity while it exists before us. I need to break into that office and take the book. I will-” she felt uncomfortable saying it, uncomfortable at the acknowledgement. “I will need you, Griddle, to lift me up through the back window. I tried the front door, but it’s locked. The window has been left ajar but I cannot reach it.”   
  
“Because you’re legally a midget?” Gideon interrupted, waggling her red eyebrows.   
  
“I am perhaps vertically challenged. Not all of us can be freakishly lanky like you.” She said, and that made Gideon burst out into laughter. She had such an abrasive, ugly laugh, filled with gasps and wheezes and snorts, but in that moment it was the best sound in the world to Harrow.   
  
“Do you have any objections to this plan?” Harrow asked over the continuous laughter, and Gideon stopped abruptly, nonplussed.   
  
“Actually yes, I have one. And that is that it’s a very stupid idea to steal some old fogey’s cryptic evil journal, he’ll notice and put his guard up.” It was a surprisingly intelligent observation for someone with porridge for brains.   
  
“Well what would you have me do? I cannot simply commit the pages to memory, Griddle. Unlike Sextus, I have other uses for my brain besides reciting endless facts.” Harrow hated being challenged, especially by Gideon.   
  
“My dear, sweet, naive Harrowhark,” Gideon paused for dramatic effect, and it was agony. “I have a solution, behold!” she reached into one shorts pocket, and then the other, giving herself an impromptu pat-down before she found her target. She retrieved a smartphone with a very cracked screen, and proffered it to Harrow. “I brought my phone, you can take pictures.” Very hesitantly, Harrow grabbed the phone from the other girl’s hands, turning it over with a frown.   
  
“As much as it pains me to admit it, you are right.” Harrow watched how the other’s girl’s face changed, stupefied and suddenly red-faced. Harrow couldn’t handle so much emotional expression, so she ignored Gideon as she spluttered. “Our revised plan, then, is that you lift me through the back window, I take photos of the book, and then we leave. I’ll need you to keep watch for me whilst I’m inside, of course.” She slipped the phone into her skirt pocket   
  
“Then let’s get off our asses and go break the law!” Gideon was overjoyed, prompting Harrow to roll her eyes and head off in the direction of Teacher’s office, shaking her head. She was beginning to reconsider including Gideon, maybe she ought to just find a step ladder.   
  
  
Teacher’s office, along with three or four others, were housed in a long, rectangular nondescript brick building of cheap construction about 100 feet behind the barn. Each office had a door directly onto the concrete path so that none of their inhabitants ever had to interact directly if they did not desire to. Teacher’s office was on the far left end, and continued to be blessedly unoccupied. They approached cautiously from the back, Harrow stopping them every few moments to duck behind a tree, or to check the area for the one hundredth time. They were still surrounded only by trees and Gideon only got more irritated by the minute. She was truly abysmal at stealth, her impatience could cost them.   
  
After careful and agonizing consideration of their circumambient terrain, Harrow waved her hand towards Gideon to lead her, finally, to the side of the building. The promised window was seven feet in the air and quite small, therefore the perfect size for Harrowhark to enter and exit though. She would leave the same way by ascending a very conveniently placed filing cabinet.   
  
“Alright, boost me up and keep watch. I shouldn’t be longer than a few minutes.” Harrow said tersely, waiting for Gideon to do as she was told. Gideon seemed to be taking a moment to consider, and Harrow distantly wondered if she was about to back out, but then she knelt down and interlaced her fingers over one knee.   
  
“Don’t get caught, my diminutive overlord.” Gideon said as Harrow very hesitantly placed her booted foot on Nav’s hands.   
  
“I won’t.” She was immediately thrust upward and was forced to bite back a yelp, grasping onto the edge of the window with white knuckles. Gideon still held her foot in the air, allowing her a platform to very gracefully swing one leg and then the other over the window and hop through it. The action hadn’t given Gideon the slightest bit of trouble, but when Harrowhark landed in the dimly lit office, her heart was pounding and her breath came in gasps. Brushing dust off her black skirt, Harrow collected herself and descended the filing cabinet. The office was quite small, containing a desk, chair, filing cabinets of differing sizes, a few house plants, and one of those stupid inspirational posters of a kitten with the caption _“Hangin in there.”_ Harrow panicked for a moment as her eyes readjusted to the lack of light, briefly unable to locate the notebook. But it was still there, it had just been moved from the desk to an adjacent cabinet. She crossed over to it rapidly, pulling the phone from her pocket and swiping it into camera mode.   
  
It was a very nondescript leatherbound journal, the kind that was worn from the years of handing, and beside it lay a ballpoint pen nearly out of ink. She was suddenly hesitant, afraid that she had put herself and Gideon at risk for nothing, that the book would simply be notes or an idiotic memiore, perhaps a collection of lists for shopping. Her hand stilled over the cover, and she lifted her head to examine the stuffy and constricted office once more. That had been a mistake. Her eyes widened, heart quickening as she spotted it: a framed photo above the desk. She hadn’t looked at a photo of - _or seen_ \- them in nearly a decade, but it was undeniably the visage of her parents, immortalized in perpetuity in a group picture framed above the Teacher's desk. It was him, her mother and father, and the faces of a few others she didn’t recognize. She abandoned the journal, crossing unsteadily towards the desk, and reaching her hand out toward the glass. Her mother had never smiled and so she wasn’t in the picture and neither was her father, which created an uncanny contrast between the two of them and Teacher.   
  
“Harrow!” she snapped back to reality like an overstretched rubber band, refocusing on her task. She couldn’t have distractions, not now, especially when it was only confirmation of what she already knew and therefore held no practical meaning for her. “Shit! Harrow, I think Teacher’s coming. You need to get out of there!” Gideon cried from outside the window, desperation seeping into her voice. When she looked out the window, surely enough, there was a man approaching from the path outside the barn. He couldn’t see her yet, at least that’s what Harrow promised herself as she threw open the journal.   
  
“I’m coming, just-” Harrow frantically snapped photos of the pages, flash on, as many as she could before the time ran out.   
  
“Are you finished yet? Harrowhark, we’re dead. Shit, fuck, we’re dead!” Gideon had crossed the threshold into panic now and was yelling at a thunderous volume.   
  
“Shut up, Griddle! I’m nearly finished, you’re going to get us caught!” She spat back bitterly, eyes darting back to the door. He was too close, and her body began to seize up, hands shaking, rendering whatever photos she was taking now an unreadable blur. She had only managed to photograph a dismal section of the warped and ink stained pages but she was out of time.   
  
“I’m coming out!” Harrow ascended the filing cabinet hastily, making a great crash as she pulled herself, legs first, to sit on the window sill. It was with mounting horror that Harrowhark realized that she had not made a plan on how to get back down.   
  
“Jump! Harrow, I’ll catch you.” Gideon called, arms open, brow furrowed as she glanced back towards the path Teacher was approaching from. Harrow hesitated, looking from the ground to the gaping arms of her enemy. “Come on, he’s going to see you!” Gideon hissed.   
  
Sucking in a breath, Harrow braced her feet against the side of the building and propelled herself off, stomach lurching as she flew into the air. There was a sickening moment as the ground caught up and she was absolutely, entirely convinced that she was about to break her neck. She closed her eyes tight just as Gideon’s arms wrapped around her like a vise, taking half a step backward to correct their colliding momentum. Harrow clung to Gideon’s torso like a bat, arms wrapped in a chokehold around her bare neck and knees at her waist. Gideon’s hands fisted in Harrow’s sweater at the small of her back, holding her there so tightly that nothing in the entire universe could have pried them apart. And then she began to run without even bothering to put Harrow down first. Gideon carried her effortlessly, taking off in the direction of the trees without so much as a backward glance, her breath coming in gasps from exertion and fear.   
  
Harrow didn’t open her eyes during the entirety of the run back, pressing her face into Gideon’s warm neck, fear still permeating her entire soul. It was all she could do to keep from trembling. Those arms felt so strong locked around her, all of that musculature that Griddle had bragged about for a millenia finally being put to use. Gideon smelled like spices and woodsmoke, a hit of something floral, and sweat. It was a familiar smell to Harrow, and she resented the twist in her gut when she considered it, how Gideon had always smelled the same, been the same, perennially in Harrowhark’s life no matter what actions she took to ensure the contrary. It was a horrible cocktail of yearning and guilt which consumed her so entirely that she hadn’t realized that Gideon had stopped, gasping for breath.   
  
“You okay there, Harrow?” Gideon asked between laborious pants, leaning her back against a tree but still maintaining that firm hold on the other girl’s body. Finally, Harrow blinked her eyes open, lifting her head to look at Gideon. Their faces were so close, and Gideon had pushed her glasses up into her hair so those striking gilded eyes could look right at her. She was frowning at her in perfect, gentle concern, and Harrow couldn’t take it.   
  
“Of course I am, put me down at once you oaf!” Harrow shouted, embarrassed, suddenly squirming to get away and put as much space between her and Gideon as possible. Gideon had to practically drop her since she had begun writhing like a caged animal, bucking to be free of her prison.   
  
“Jesus!” Gideon exclaimed, just barely managing to steady Harrow by the shoulder before she could crash backwards onto her behind. “You act like such a fucking butt-touched nun sometimes, I don’t get it.”   
  
“Shut up, let’s just get back to the cabin before anyone goes looking for us.”   
  


**   
  
Much later, as she lay wrapped in the tatty duvet on her top bunk, Gideon couldn’t expunge the memory of Harrow’s body clinging tight to hers from her hippocampus. It had been etched in there permanently, much to her abject dismay. Lying there in the endless dark, it was almost like she could still feel it; the way Harrow’s sharp little nails dug deep into her shoulders, her frightened breaths, how astonishingly light she had been. She had been warm, she was so astoundingly warm, near feverish. Gideon found herself missing that warmth, and she hated herself for it. Even now, Harrow’s wheezing little breaths filled Gideon’s ears from somewhere below as she slept.   
  
Gideon had given up on Harrowhark so many times, every time she said those horrible three words, every time she drew blood, every time she made Gideon feel like she was nothing. But lying there, mind racing, unable to quiet her thoughts, she wondered if there was something to be salvaged. Everything since coming here, to this horrible stupid ramshackled camp ground run by neon-clad lunatics, had been utterly uncanny. Uncomfortable, like the floor had suddenly dropped out from under her and she was forced to scramble for a way out. She felt utterly and entirely confused, her position in reality so irrevocably shifted. Fucked with. Destroyed, rendered down into bite-sized pieces and feasted on by the universe. Harrow had invited her into her bubble for the first time in nearly a decade and Gideon was faced with a nostalgia that tugged at her brain and heart and soul. It was disquieting, nauseating. She couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle how good it felt to be close to Harrow again because every part of her was afraid of how soon this would end. How soon their interactions would be punctuated by a threat, or anger, like today when Harrow had clung to her like a drowning cat and then acted as if Gideon had violated something sacred by not being the first one to let go. She didn’t want to hold her heart open again only for Harrow to tear into it with those claws of hers, ripping open those scars she had left behind so long ago. There was too much between them, an endless chasm which expanded infinitely downwards, filled to the brim with all the ways they had hurt each other.   
  
There was this awful pressure in her chest, a physical pain in her heart that made Gideon distantly wonder if she were dying. She’d felt it before, though, and she knew what it was, and she hated herself for feeling it over Harrow. Her enemy, her nemesis, the girl who had hated her so passionately without ever once explaining why. The girl who she had hated back, who she had tried to destroy. They were certainly destroying each other now because Gideon felt worse than she had felt in a myriad. She reached, blindly, for the bible she’d left on the window sill to read back through what they had written to each other, to remind herself that their collaboration, camaraderie, amiability, had been real. When she grasped it and opened the front cover, she realized that the pages which had been tucked so delicately there were gone. Gideon let the book drop back down, turning over to face the wall. Harrow had probably thrown them away, which was probably the smart thing to do given their contents. Knowing that didn’t dull the hurt.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I know that last chapter (and this chapter a little bit too probably) sort of ripped everybody's still beating hearts out of their chests by virtue of being super duper sad, but never fear! I have at least one goofier return-to-form chapter planned for soon which will maybe not wreck eveybody's shit and get to explore some other character dynamics I haven't touched on much yet! Anyways, as always feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	9. Camping? At summer camp?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cabin group goes actually camping out doors!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is once again the case of me writing one really long chapter and needed it split it in two, so chapter 10 will be posted shortly after this one. Enjoy!

On the sixth horrible day at Camp Mithraeum, Gideon was awoken abruptly by Mercymorn shaking her, violently. “Get up,” she said brusquely. “We’re leaving after breakfast.” It was still quite early in the morning, the sun just beginning to crest above the horizon, _aka_ way too fucking early for Gideon to be conscious and having coherent thoughts. Every other early morning she’d had at camp had proven that utterly.   
  
“What the fuck for?” She cried out groggily, blinking her bleary eyes up at the ceiling. All Mercymorn said back was “ _Language!”_ leaving Gideon completely in the dark.   
  
“The camping trip, duh!” Corona’s sparkling voice called back from her bunk. “It was in the brochure, didn’t you read that?”   
  
“Bold of you to assume Griddle can read.” Said Harrow from somewhere below, voice flat. Gideon rolled her eyes.   
  
“I can read! Nobody gave me a brochure. I’m not here on purpose.” Gideon replied irritably, sitting up slowly to observe the morning chaos. Mercy appeared to have stepped out and every other girl was in the middle of getting ready for the day, packing their things back up. “Isn’t a camping trip at summer camp kinda… redundant? I thought we were already camping.” She said sleepily.   
  
It was Camilla who clarified, sitting comfortably on her top bunk and already prepared to leave. She wore a grey turtleneck and jeans of the same color, nose in a book. “Perhaps. It’s essentially a trip into the woods for two nights, we sleep in tents instead of bunks.” 

  
“I didn’t bring a tent.” Gideon said miserably.   
  
“They have tents, Griddle.” Harrow replied, in a tone which said she had decided on Gideon’s brainlessness years ago and would never alter her interpretation. With an enormous sigh, Gideon got up, shoved her shit carelessly back into the dufflebag she’d arrived with, and headed for the showers. After she was finished, she changed into a black tank top (which read “ _I put the FUN in FUNERAL”_ with a drawing of a coffin) and jeans, only thinking ahead enough to pull on boots instead of sneakers and toss her leather jacket over one shoulder. At least if they were stuck outside all day, her sunglasses would see legitimate use.   
  
After a breakfast which only served to make Gideon feel more exhausted and leaden, the campers were herded onto an ancient, clattering bus. Anyone who had driven themselves to Mithraeum were encouraged to follow the bus to the campground, so the Tridentarii (in their horrifically expensive Tesla) weren’t there to make the bus ride more interesting. Neither were Cam, Pal, or Dulcie, who had all gone to ride in Camilla’s car. Gideon almost wished she could be there, but that thought quickly was overruled by the fact that she didn’t want to fuck with Palamedes by flirting with Dulcinea right in front of him.   
  
Gideon hadn’t ridden the bus since she had gotten her driver’s license a year ago, but it felt like much longer when she stepped on to this one. It was a decommissioned school bus with very faded green letters painted on the side to read _“Camp Mithraeum”_ and was in an incredibly poor shape. It coughed and gasped black smoke, engine sputtering so violently that the entire structure rattled. The pleather seats were cracked and peeling, and the floor was caked in dirt. It was a death trap, basically, and it contained what was left of their cabin group and another. Apparently, only campers who had specifically opted in to the camping trip were going, the rest left to other activities with their groups. Aiglamene was terrible and Gideon was distantly beginning to wonder how much money this very specific punishment had cost her.   
  
Because Mercymorn was a pill, she insisted that the remaining bunk buddies be seated together, leaving Jeannemary without a buddy and therefore doomed to sit beside Mercy the entire ride. Neither seemed thrilled about this, and Gideon thought for a moment she might actually relax the rule. She didn’t, and it didn’t matter anyway because every other interesting person wasn’t on this bus. Harrow took the window seat and Gideon didn’t protest, it was better she not be trapped behind her goth weirdo bunk buddy in case of emergency. Then again, if Harrow were in her way, Gideon could simply throw her.   
  
“This is stupid.” Gideon said, by way of hello. Harrow looked up at her with those depthless black eyes and Gideon knew she agreed but wasn’t going to say it. Gideon had deliberately left as much space between them as physically possible, one leg hanging off in the aisle, and Harrow had compressed her body against the metal wall of the bus. It was as if both girls were terrified that touching would cause them to explode into tiny chunks of singed meat. Gideon was just afraid that she wouldn’t completely hate it. Today Harrow wore trousers and a shirt with a pointed collar, cardigan buttoned up all the way, as always in that impossibly deep matching black. She didn’t know how Harrow did that, every one of her blacks were slightly, infuriatingly different no matter how hard she tried to make them match.   
  
“I’ve never been camping.” Was what Harrow finally said, turning her eyes to admire a rip in the back of the brown pleather seat in front of her.   
  
“Me either.” Said Gideon, and of course she hadn’t. It required parents to grow up experiencing those sort of fun family bonding activities, which was something the both of them sorely lacked. This was going to be the worst first camping experience imaginable, probably. Once again, Gideon regretted every little thing that had led her to this moment, on a crumbling bus at bible camp, sat right beside Harrow who had done nothing but fuck with Gideon this entire time. Nothing but make her feel confused and uncomfortable and angry all at once. And a bunch of other feelings too that Gideon vehemently refused to name or acknowledge, shoving them into a box in the back of her brain and locking it permanently.   
  
The place they were going turned out to be less than a twenty minutes away from Camp Mithraeum and the ride implied that the camp owned most of the surrounding land because there were no signs to indicate the contrary. It was a large, flat field speckled with oak trees, cut in twain by a lazilly flowing river edged with rocks. She began to consider how engaging she could make this experience for the rest of them by just drowning herself.   
  
The bus came to a stop in a narrow dirt lot and within moments a few other cars arrived. From the lot were two dirt paths, one into the trees and another to bathroom structures very similar to the ones back at the main camp. Good, at least they wouldn’t have to shit in the woods. Gideon observed through the window as Protesilaus, who had also ridden with Camilla and Palamedes, was out in a heartbeat and helping Dulcinea into her wheelchair chivalrously. Unpaved terrain was probably not well suited to her current mode of movement, but then again Protasilaus looked capable of just picking the wheelchair up entirely and carrying her to their destination.   
  
“Alright, let’s go kiddies.” Mercymorn called impatiently, and teenagers began to file out of their seats, regrouping outside the bus. Gideon stood slowly, grabbing her bag and glancing over toward Harrow as a reflex. Ever since breaking into Teacher’s office Harrow seemed somehow more reluctant to speak, and Gideon distantly wondered what it had been that she’d done wrong. Maybe Harrow just had a stick up her ass because all Gideon could remember was saving Harrow’s bony butt from both breaking her brittle bones during the fall and being caught by Teacher by virtue of her absolutely puny legs. Regardless, the two of them followed off the bus like sheep to the slaughter under the critical eye of Mercymorn.   
  
Augustine led their collective group to the section of campground closest to the parking lot, likely so Dulcinea wouldn’t have to travel far. It was a large, grassy clearing with a charred dirt ribbon down the center, evidently where campfires could be set. The chance to set shit on fire, at least, was quite promising. Mercy, who had stayed behind, emerged into the clearing carrying a rather large cooler, a long cylindrical bag, and five tent bags. She deposited these unceremoniously into the dirt and sent a glance to Augstine. “Your turn.” She merely said, and he headed back in the direction of the parking lot, likely to collect his own supplies.   
  
“Alright, girls, tents fit two and the bunk buddy rule still applies.” Of _course_ she was going to have to share a tent with Harrow. Shit, fuck. This was stupid. Fuck you, Aiglamene. “We’re on the right side of the clearing, the boys on the left.” From her cylindrical bag Mercy produced one of those fold out camping chairs, unfolded it, and then sat down facing their side of the camp. The implication here was that they were going to have to figure out how to set up a tent by themselves and, for Gideon, that implication was completely hellish. She had never so much as put together a gingerbread house or piece of ikea furniture correctly in her life. Once, when Aiglamene had left her alone to put together a shelf, she had returned to Gideon with a gash in her hand so deep she needed stitches. The wound was particularly impressive given there hadn’t been anything sharp in the box. Resigned to her ruinous fate of both being forced to use her brain critically and to share her space with Harrow forever, apparently, Gideon approached the bag pile and attempted to select the least fucked up looking one. Which was hard, by the way, because they were all very worn, sun-weathered, and smelled like mildew from bad storage.   
  
What followed was a very confusing, infuriating series of events in which Harrow read the tent instructions aloud to Gideon and Gideon ignored them, attempting to just force the wrong poles through the wrong slots until she was lost in a tangle of plasticy fabric and ready to give up. Harrow had apparently reached her capacity for ridiculous bullshit for that day early because eventually she just stopped giving Gideon prompts, instead opting to watch her flounder in grim surrender. Eventually, Camilla, who had finished setting up the tent for her and Jeannemary ten minutes ago, wordlessly yanked Gideon out of the mess by the arm and began setting up the tent for them. In Gideon’s mind this was a win because as far as she could tell, tent-setup was a dark magic that should never be performed by the uninitiated. Camilla probably went camping all the time, hunted for all her food, owned at least three swords, and wove her own clothing. She was definitely the rugged type beneath all that intellectuality and librarian greys.   
  
“Thanks, Camilla!” Gideon said once she had finished (in less than five minutes) to which Camilla rolled her eyes.   
  
“Ask for help next time. I can’t stand to watch you make a complete idiot of yourself.” The other girl replied brutally, crossing back to her own tent. Gideon thought that was kind of fair.   
  
The tent was about three bodies wide and one Harrow tall, meaning that Gideon would have to crouch to get in. It was a very faded lime green with slightly rusted zippers, mesh windows with covers to zip over them, including one on the top but it was covered by the rain tarp which perpetually prepared Camilla had very courteously put up. During the tent setup, Augustine made a few more trips back to the bus to get his own tents, chair, and cooler, along with what appeared to be sleeping bags. These, luckily, were in better condition and had probably been washed ever at all since the beginning of time, unlike the tents. At least that meant they wouldn’t have to sleep directly touching several years of old body odor. Gideon grabbed two of the sleeping bags and ducked into the tent just long enough to throw one to either side and observe the frankly ridiculous amount of bugs which had already invaded the tent through some unseen hole in the plastic. Harrow had made herself comfortable upon the grass and was watching disdainfully as the rest of the group set up their tents with relative amounts of success. Palamedes’ was already up and Ianthe appeared to be setting her and Corona’s up all on her own whilst Corona was digging through her bag for something. After observing enough tent related teenage chaos, Mercy was setting up the tent she would have to share with Dulcinea, who was reading a book rather than watching people do things around her. Protesilaus and Naberius were both trying to strong-arm the shit out of their poor structure so hard that one of the flimsy poles snapped and they were doomed to a leaning tent until the end of time. In the wake of all this, Gideon walked towards Harrow.   
  
“Hey, Cadaver Queen, give me your bag.” Gideon said, her own already slung over her shoulder, extending her hand outwards.   
  
“What?” Harrow scrutinized Gideon suspiciously, laying one bony hand protectively over her belongings.   
  
“To put in the tent, you paranoid dork.” Gideon clarified with a smirk. Harrow glared and shoved her bag toward Gideon indignantly, turning her entire body away. Gideon rolled her eyes and chucked both bags (throwing Harrow’s extra hard) into the tent.


	10. By the campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group have a camp fire and Gideon asks Harrow what she found in Teacher's office

Many boring hours later after what was, in comparison to Magnus and Abigail’s cooking, a completely dismal lunch of very plain sandwiches, the sun had finally set and Mercy was seeing about getting a fire going. She had given vague instructions to the campers to gather brush, so Gideon had wandered into the woods to do just that, returning with a handful of sticks and dead grass. She tossed this unceremoniously into the pile in front of Mercy, earning her a glare, before returning to her seat. Augustine had left again and returned with a stack of shitty white plastic lawn chairs, two of which Gideon had snached for her and Harrow as there didn’t appear to be enough chairs of everyone, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to sit in the grass.  
  
“You’re doing it wrong, Joy.” Augustine said, leaning over Mercy, who apparently had yet another ill fitting name. She looked back at him in complete disgust.  
  
“I am not! Get out of my face, Augustine!” She shouted back, but he didn’t move.  
  
“Perhaps you want to eat a dinner of cold hot dogs and un-toasted marshmallows, Mercy, but I imagine the campers would disagree. So move over and let me have a go at it!”  
  
This argument continued for an improbable amount of time, until they weren’t even speaking in words but in grunts, gestures, and facial expressions. That was somehow more frightening to watch. Finally, Augustine was able to rearrange the campfire and ignite the tinder with a bic lighter and a cursory spray of lighter fluid. The flames rose slowly and then all at once, the stink of accelerant mixing with the smell of smoke as the embers trailed up high. The sky was blue-black and freckled with twinkling stars, the crescent moon looking down at them from up high. This would have been the perfect night to kiss a pretty girl at bible camp, but Corona was deeply entrenched in some frivolous conversation with Naberius, her sister Ianthe sitting on her lap, and she doubted she’d get them apart for long enough to put the moves on her.  
  
“I hope I didn’t miss too much of the fun,” said a voice, Teacher’s, as he emerged from the path to the parking lot. “I had to deal with a problem in cabin 3b.” Both councilors nodded like they had personally dealt with cabin 3b and knew all of its terrible secrets. No one, aside from Mercy and Augustine, had expected him to show up there, least of all Gideon. As leader of the camp, she figured he had, like, important leader shit to do somewhere? That perhaps he was always busy leading worship- or being worshipped, what with the way Augustine and Mercymorn immediately gravitated around him. They offered him a seat in between them, along with one of the metal skewers they’d taken from one of the coolers. Out of everyone she’d seen so far, he looked the most comfortable in his horrid neon green _GOD LOVES YOU_ shirt, and Gideon wondered if they were his idea.  
  
“All you missed was Mercy’s inability to start a fire.” Commented Augustine, and Mercy bristled.  
  
“Oh, you two, can’t you get along for a night? You used to.” Teacher said in that infinitely patient, infinitely kind voice he had.  
  
“That was before.” was all that Mercy deigned to reply, effectively shutting the conversation down.  
  
The rest of the circle were forced to pick back up where they had left off and ignore the sheer awkward domesticity of the encounter, the intrigue of what had happened between these two assholes a myriad ago. Most of them had chairs, but Protasilaus and the two younger teens were sitting in the grass; Protasilaus didn’t seem to mind but the teens looked aggrieved. Harrow was on Gideon’s left with her knees tucked up to her chest, staring into the fire so her eyes reflected red and probably burning the shit out of her retinas. Palamedes was on Gideon’s right, and beside him Camilla, and then Dulcie beside Protasilaus who had so carefully pushed her there.  
  
It was Dulcie to break the silence, nudging a delicate pale hand against Protasilaus’ uncomfortably buff shoulder. “This is your chance, Pro! Someone to listen who isn’t me!” She clapped her hands together in an adorable way, and he shrugged, clearing his throat.  
  
“Chance for what?” Ianthe asked, pale brows furrowed in amusement.  
  
“I thought I might read some poetry to the group. I felt inspired after coming here, so I wrote some. Corona gave me a few notes.” Protesilaus said, nodding to the radiant blonde. She returned his nod with a glowing smile.  
  
“Sure, let’s hear it. I love poetry.” Said Teacher, because of course he was the poetry type. Gideon barely had to spare a glance toward Harrow to know that she absolutely was _not_ the poetry type, especially not amature poetry. She looked ready to pull apart at the seams with suppressed hatred, which was a little premature given he hadn’t spoken yet.  
  
Protasilaus cleared his throat again, pulling a small notepad out of one of his pockets, before reciting: 

“ _In the decrepit there is beauty, blessed by His light._

_What lives in dilapidation but the memory of love,_

_Created through experience and very human plight._

_For our struggles we must thank His Majesty,_

_the charitable God above_.”

Gideon had never understood much about poetry, but it seemed a bit like Protasiluas was dunking on the fact that Camp Mithraeum was a shithole. Coronabeth was clapping encouragingly and Ianthe looked bored. Both of the two teens looked like they missed having the ability to spend all of their time on the internet and wanted so very badly to go back home.  
  
“Very well put, Protesilaus. It is wonderful to know our camp has inspired such creativity.” Teacher said, dark eyes twinkling.  
  


“I appreciate the metaphor.” Weighed in Palamedes, who probably even knew what he was talking about.  
  
Gideon said, mostly to herself, “Actually I think he just hates it here.” 

  
Finally, as a reprieve from this torture, Augustine opened one of the coolers and started passing skewers and a bag of hot dogs around. Gideon had been to bonfires before, she knew the deal. When they reached her, she skewered one and began to hold it aloft the fire, passing them with the other hand to Harrowhark.  
  
“What am I meant to do with this?” She asked, sounding completely disgusted. Gideon rolled her eyes.  
  
“You’re supposed to cook it over the fire, Harrow.” That did not seem to be good enough clarification for Harrowark, who held a hot dog pinched in her forefinger and thumb as if it were maggot infested roadkill. Gideon sighed, and reached over to pluck both the hot dog and the skewer from those little hands. Harrow started to protest, but Gideon simply prepared the dog and handed it back. “There you go, princess.” She said, teasingly.  
  
“You touched my food.” Harrow never said thank you, she probably had never been taught the concept. Gideon half expected her to throw the whole thing into the fire to cleanse it of Gideon’s gunge, but she just held it above the flames like a normal person.  
  
“Before we eat, we ought to pray.” Said Teacher, and immediately everyone in the circle bowed their heads aside from Gideon, which looked a little bit comical with everyone holding out hot dog-ed skewers. He led them in a boring, nonsense prayer, praying that the trip be safe and the campers be comfortable, that God would lead them through the rest of the time at Camp Mithraeum safely. Everyone obediently mumbled the words, or mouthed them. This time, Harrow’s cryptic addition was different:  
  
“I pray that the fire warms her and her eternal sleep is one of comfort. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.” She recited, all the while fondling the necklace of probably real teeth she was wearing. This time, only Teacher seemed to have heard it, a frown creasing his face before that carefully neutral expression replaced it. Of course freaky weirdo Harrowhark Nonagesimus would have some extremism in her religion that frightened even the leader of a bible camp.  
  
Gideon spent an inordinate amount of time perfectly browning her hot dog, asking for a bun and condiments when everyone was already half finished eating theirs. Harrow had severely burnt hers and was nibbling at her bun like any flavor at all was an affront on God. To her, salt was probably too spicy.  
  
Before long, marshmallows were being passed around and conversation was flowing. Gideon stuck two on the end of her skewer and set to browning them. Teacher, Augustine, and Mercy were tumbling over each other to tell a story to Ortus and Protesilaus. Naberius was trying to show off his perfect roasting technique but he waited too long and the marshmallow dropped into the fire with a sizzle. Both twins smacked him on the arm, Coronabeth yelling “Babs!” before bursting into laughter at his shame. Corona looked delighted, Ianthe looked unsurprised at this critical failure. Jeannemary and Isaac were talking about an upcoming music festival, for which Gideon actually recognized a few of the bands. They had good taste. The fire had burned down and been built up again, casting flickering shadows around the circle and spewing embers into the air. They were lucky that the day was windless because the smoke floated upward and away from everyone’s faces. The sounds of the crackling fire, conversation, and the distant shriek of cicadas melded into a symphony of the outdoors. Gideon was suddenly struck by the loveliness of the situation and disgusted at how much she suddenly didn’t hate being here, at bible camp, in front of a campfire and beside the girl who she had hated for so long and so passionately. When she looked over at her, Harrow was staring with squinted eyes at the burnt marshmallow on the end of her skewer.  
  
“Geez, you’re terrible at this.” Gideon said with a laugh. She withdrew her skewer and blew on it gently, plucking one of her marshmallows off and offering it to Harrow. “Here, take one of mine.”  
  
Harrow took it, hesitantly, and Gideon watched as she took a delicate bite of the crisped surface, melted marshmallow spilling out onto her fingers. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head like she’d taken a bite of something horribly bitter. “Too sweet.” she muttered.  
  
**  
  
Soon after, the group retired to their tents, Teacher leaving through the path back to the parking lot, presumably to return to the main camp. Augustine had snuffed out the charred logs and stored the coolers back in the locked bus where not even the angriest bear could reach them. The cicadas had fallen silent, allowing crickets to be their understudy by filling the night with their softer music instead. Gideon had entered the tent first, grabbing a pair of sweatpants to change into, and Harrow had stared at her awkwardly as she waited by the door. They certainly weren’t going to change in front of _each other_ , so Gideon bit the bullet and headed toward the bathrooms by the parking lot, very courteously giving Harrow the tent. Gideon thought she would rather see the car crash her mother had died in than witness whatever eldritch horror Harrow was hiding under her clothes. She was probably impossibly bony, or had a 3rd nipple somewhere, or- god fucking damn it she shouldn’t be fucking _thinking_ about that!  
  
Flustered and irritated, Gideon reemerged with her jeans over one arm. She lingered uncomfortably outside, wondering how on earth one was meant to knock on a tent. She eventually just smacked her hand against the front.  
  
“Hey, Nonagesimus. You done in there? I’m tired.” She said, her nails making a funny squealing noise as they scraped against the plastic.  
  
“You may enter.” Harrow said, and so she unzipped the front and stepped into the dark. Harrow’s black nightgown was stark against her pale green background, her dark gaze as piercing as ever. She had wiped most of her makeup off, leaving black smudges underneath her eyes and in the creases of her lips. She glared at Gideon as if she had entered without permission, despite the fact she had literally just asked if she could come in.  
  
Gideon settled down into her sleeping bag, all that complacent comfort earlier melting away as she couldn’t find a good laying position. It wasn’t just that Harrow was only about a foot away from her, either. The ground which had originally appeared to be a flat, pleasant bed of grass was in truth ridged with lumps and cracks and the occasional small rock. The bottom of the tent and the thin sleeping bag were insufficient in the battle against the ground. She was going to wake up the next morning with a backache, if she even slept at all. She was struck with the fact that she had barely managed to sleep well any night she had been here, save for one, and now it was like they were just trying to double down. If the cabin beds were lumpy with uneven pressure from the worn springs, this was like lying down on a scattering of thumbtacks. Harrow, on the other side of the tent, lay still. Gideon turned on her side to face her, a recollection blooming at the edges of her brain as she looked at those black eyes in the dark. It was strange how Harrow’s blank face had almost become normal to her in these last few days. It was like seeing her without her mask on to hide those vulnerabilities, namely the dark circles under her eyes and the lips she bit raw. She had such a pointed little face, all angles with that high brow and those cheekbones, all at once in conflict with the soft bow of her lips.  
  
“Harrow, you never gave me my phone back after yesterday.” Gideon said, frowning. “What did you find?” Harrow didn’t say anything for a moment and Gideon thought _of course_ , Harrow wasn’t going to tell her anything. She had simply used Gideon for her amazing breaking and entering and then escaping under the threat of maybe death skills. Then the goth twig moved, unzipping her bag and rifling through it.  
  
“I wasn’t able to photograph every page since Teacher interrupted my search.” Harrow said, swiping to the gallery, the white light of the phone deepening the shadows in her face. She looked as gaunt as a dehydrated old corpse. “It appears to be a list of names and some money amounts, along with incomprehensible drivel.” Said harrow, swiping through the camera roll to find what she was looking for. Gideon was immediately reminded that it was _her_ phone that Harrow was holding, her phone, which had porn saved on it in a folder very expertly called _“not porn”_ and several goofy selfies that Gideon absolutely did not want her to see. What Harrow could look at, however, was Gideon’s frankly spectacularly curated folder of memes; Harrow needed a bit more humor in her life. The possibility of Harrow finally developing a refined sense of humor did not assuage Gideon’s panic at the idea that she had access to her very private information. The Harrow she knew would use that for blackmail, as fodder for brand new insults, to prod at her sore spots, every dismal thing she could possibly come up with. And Gideon would have done the same thing to Harrow, given the chance a week ago. Now, she wasn’t so sure, especially when the girl across from her gave no indication of having searched for Gideon’s weak points and already being in the midst calculating just the right moment to attack them. This Harrow simply held the phone out to Gideon, showing her a slightly blurred photo of a yellowing notebook page. There were several money amounts beside dates escalating from what must have been 25 years ago. Jesus, John Gaius had been doing this for a very long time.  
  
“The records here are strange and I’m not exactly sure yet what they mean.” Harrow supplied, swiping through a few more photos. “It’s possible that these are a true copy of falsified records somewhere, but I would have to confirm that by locating and breaking into Teacher’s personal computer.”  
  
“So that’s why you were asking Palamedes how to hack?” Gideon asked, intrigued at the idea.  
  
Harrow nodded sharply. “Yes, I just haven’t found out where he keeps his records yet.”  
  
“What about the like, seven filing cabinets in his office?”  
  
“It’s possible, we’d need to swipe his keys.” Harrow said pensively, chewing her bottom lip. She had practically bitten them to scabs, just looking at her made Gideon wish she had some lip balm.  
  
“I can pick locks.” Gideon offered.  
  
“You can?”  
  
“Yes, because it’s a very cool hot girl skill and I am a very cool hot girl. If we can get the keys though, that would also be good.” To this, Harrow rolled her eyes but she didn’t disagree.  
  
“We’ll use that as a last resort, then.” Harrow said, continuing to swipe. “There was this and I can’t for the life of me understand what it means.” On the page there were two lines dividing the paper into fourths, in the top left quadrant there was a tall vertical line on the left side. In the top right quadrant there was the same tall line, with a shorter vertical line to its right. The bottom left quadrant had two lines of equal height on either side, and the final quadrant there was the same long vertical line on the left side of a single horizontal line. Gideon let out a groan and shook her head, to which Harrow looked troubled. She stared into Gideon intently when she didn’t immediately explain.  
  
“It’s nothing, Harrow. Just a very stupid meme. I have no idea why that’s in there.” Gideon explained.  
  
“What’s a meme?” Harrow asked, completely innocently, blowing Gideon’s mind.  
  
“Did you really just ask me that? Harrow, you have been in a high school before. You own a phone, are you telling me you’re such a decrepit old soul that you don’t know what a fucking _meme_ is?” Gideon cried, suddenly exasperated.  
  
“Well excuse me if I find myself too concerned with my studies to engage with my fellow youths.” Harrow said defensively, withdrawing her hand containing the phone. Even the way she said it made her sound ancient, as if she’d been raised in a cult and had never before this moment stepped outside. Part of that Gideon knew to be false, the jury was still out on the cult part.  
  
Gideon opened her mouth to speak before reconsidering, eyes falling back on the phone. “I’ll have you know, my shadowy anchorite, that this conversation isn’t over. But unfortunately we have more pressing matters than me explaining memes to you.” Gideon exhaled, arms folded over her chest. “What else did you find?”  
  
Harrow swiped again a few times, this time ending on a list of names with dates. The paper was coffee stained and warped, the ink smudged in places. Gideon took the phone from her and squinted at it.  
  
_Mercymorn,_ ~~_Cristabel_ ~~ _1995_ _  
_ _  
_ _Augustine,_ _~~Alfred~~ _ _1995_

 _Gideon,_ ~~_Pyrrha_ ~~ _1996_

 ~~_Cassiopeia, Nigella_ ~~ _1998_

 ~~_Cyrus, Valancy_ ~~ _1998_ _  
_ _  
_ ~~_Ulysses, Titania_ ~~ _1999_

 ~~_Cytherea, Loveday_ ~~ _2001_

 ~~_Ana_ ~~ _  
_ _  
_ On the last line the page had been ripped jagged, but beside the beginning of _Ana_ there were very dark splotches, like droplets and smears of something old and discolored. It was darker than the above coffee stains, almost black.  
  
“It’s blood.” said Harrow, because of course she would know that. That didn’t clarify anything, though.  
  
“What does this even mean?” Gideon asked, and Harrow looked contemplative before her expression shifted towards genuine anger.  
  
“If I knew that, I would be a hell of a lot closer to where I ought to be.” Harrow spat vitriolically, shaking her head and closing in on herself. Gideon thought that Harrow was mad at her, but in a moment of clarity she realized that Harrow was only mad at herself. She was angry at her failure to decipher the ever growing mystery at Camp Mithraeum: a mystery that Gideon didn’t even quite understand the basis of. She just followed Harrow because she was bored, and because Harrow had asked.  
  
“Okay, well here’s what we know,” Gideon said, trying to be helpful. “There’s a bunch of names and most of them are crossed out. We can infer based on Mercy and Agustine’s names that these people were at some point involved with the camp. But why is my name there?” She asked, looking back at the phone to confirm that indeed, her name was among the ones listed.  
  
“Not your name, there’s another Gideon. I have seen him around camp only a few times, I don’t think he’s a counselor.” Harrow clarified and Gideon was struck with the indignation of apparently not having a very unique name at all, and at the fact that someone at a bible camp shared it. She briefly considered changing her name permanently to get away from that.  
  
“Okay, well, that helps. So those who aren’t crossed out currently work here, meaning that the others might have been fired or left. And then there’s blood on the page and the bottom is torn off, so what the fuck, basically?”  
  
“If I knew what it meant, I would tell you, Griddle.” She fisted her hands into her short cropped hair, squeezing her eyes shut. “Those observations are obvious! I understand that already, you dullard.”  
  
“Okay, rude, I was just trying to help. You know, collect our thoughts so we can choose how to move forward. You’re so mean.” Gideon replied curtly, laying the phone down onto the bottom of the tent and plunging them into half-darkness again.  
  
“The truth hurts, Griddle.” Harrow replied simply and then she looked relaxed again, that straight-faced old Noangesimus mask slipped back on, this time with a hint of conspiracy. “I already know what our next move is. We wait for an opportunity to search Teacher’s computer and files, one where there is no chance of interruption.”  
  
“Okay, well, when is that?” Gideon was a little tired of Harrow half-explaining things while she was forced to scramble to catch up. Harrow was not built for teamwork.  
  
“The dance coming up, it will be hosted in the barn and the entire camp will be in attendance, so Teacher should be as well. Although, he is liable to slip out. We may need a distraction.” Harrow said, and once again Gideon wished she had read that stupid fucking pamphlet. Or had done any research at all into the activities pertaining to this stupid camp in order to prepare herself, but past Gideon had been in complete denial.  
  
“Fuck, there’s a dance too? What other major bullshit am I unaware of?” She asked, and Harrow shrugged.  
  
“As far as major events, I believe that’s it.” Well, that was a relief, but an impending dance still brought up several horrible implications. First of all: she hadn’t packed a suit, but then again it had become very on-brand for her these last few days to violate the sanctity of bible camp’s dress code. Second of all was just the idea in general of a dance at a bible camp, probably with chaperones at the side making sure everyone left room for Jesus and measuring girl’s skirts at the door. Third was the deep and appalling fear that somehow, everyone’s date to the dance would be their bunk buddy by default. That idea made Gideon’s stomach do an impromptu leap, her face feeling suddenly hot. She was grateful for the dark.  
  
“So, we go to the dance, distract Teacher some way and then we do Breaking and Entering 2: Electric Boogaloo.” Gideon said, eventually.  
  
“I don’t understand what you’re saying half the time.” Harrow replied miserably. “But yes, essentially that is our current plan.”  
  
Gideon was going to say more, namely ask how they were planning on distracting Teacher long enough to get the information they needed, but all of her snapped to attention when outside there was a sudden _crack_ . She whipped bodily around to the direction of the noise outside the tent, all at once prepared to fight an intruder or bear, but Harrow put one bony hand on her wrist to stop her.  
  
“It’s probably nothing, Griddle. Go to sleep.” But the look in her eyes said that it _wasn’t_ nothing and that she was afraid, too.  
  
  
_  
_  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry for including a loss meme reference in this chapter, it's what Tamsyn Muir would've wanted.


	11. An unwelcome inturruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrow has a confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so my little hiatus from writing this is over! I may still be updating more sporadically because I'm actually trying to write an outline for this that makes sense so that the ending will too. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

The next morning, Harrow awoke with a disgustingly sore back from sleeping on the uneven ground, and she had grown up prone to sleeping in libraries, her study, and basically any surface she was liable to collapse upon after too long without food or rest. There was a particularly awful knot in the muscle above her shoulder blade, like a rock had lodged itself somewhere above the bone, and she knew she’d be suffering that every time she moved for the foreseeable future. When she turned onto her side, she saw Gideon there, face mere inches away from hers. She was enjoying an improbably deep sleep, mouth slack and lower lip slick with drool. Her red hair was a wild, disheveled halo around her perfectly peaceful head. She had half kicked her sleeping back off during the night, her tank top twisted and rolled up to expose a strip of bronze skin. Looking at that unguarded face was like the twist of a knife in Harrowhark’s gut; she didn’t deserve to see Gideon this way. She didn’t deserve being trusted enough for Gideon to fall asleep beside her, to follow her the way she had been doing since the night on her bunk. She felt worse acknowledging the bruise blooming across Griddle’s freckled cheeks. It just made Harrow angry and that anger reminded her of the events of the previous night, and she was more angry.  
  
It had taken a lot to talk Gideon down from her brilliant plan of rushing whomever had been lurking outside their tent, and even after a myriad of explanations and excuses, Gideon went out there anyway. Her only weapon was one of her boots, so she left with one foot bare and checked their perimeter. She found nothing, but Harrow had expected that already. She knew who it had been, had seen that lock of pale blonde hair fall across the mesh tent window over Gideon’s shoulder, and the purple hem of her nightgown as she bolted away. Ianthe was generally stealthier than that, Harrow almost felt cheated in this effortless discovery, but perhaps that meant Ianthe wanted to be noticed. She couldn’t rule that out, and she couldn’t tell Gideon either. It felt like a betrayal, to keep that secret, and perhaps it was but Gideon had already once agreed to suffice with whatever information Harrow was willing to give. This was just a part of that because Ianthe was dangerous and unpredictable, and whatever had come between Gideon and Harrow in these last few days was too delicate to risk. Besides, she would tell Gideon if the situation warranted her intervention. There was no use waking her up and troubling her with anything concerning the inferior twin.  
  
The sun was only beginning to creep over the horizon when Harrow arose and left their tent still in her long back nightgown. She didn’t want to awaken Gideon by rummaging through her bag, so she waited to change until after this confrontation. Outside the tent, the air was cool and wet and her bare feet distrubed the droplets of dew which had settled upon the grass in the night. Birds called from somewhere up high and the wind rustled gently through the canopy of oak leaves, painting a deceptively serene picture of morning. It was with a black smudged face, sleep lingering in her eyes, that Harrow approached the tent that she knew to contain the twins. She didn’t have to bother with disturbing Coronabeth because Ianthe was already awake, sitting outside her tent with a book in her lap. She raised her bloodless head, swiping her lank hair away from her long face, smiling as a way of greeting. Harrow did not return the gesture, a permanent frown fixed on her chapped lips. Ianthe was dressed in an impractical flowing violet romper, gathered at the waist and with loose puff sleeves hanging off her delicate shoulders. It was probably absurdly expensive. She ought to have spontaneously combusted the moment she stepped out of her tent, exposing so much of her anemic skin to the morning sun.  
  
“Good morning, Harry. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She said in an exaggeratedly saccharine tone. Harrow was already regretting this.  
  
“What were you doing outside my tent last night?” She cut to the chase. Ianthe closed her book, rolling her pale violet eyes languidly, hands closed and folded in her lap.  
  
“Oh, now don’t jump to conclusions, Harry.” ( _“Stop calling me that,”_ Harrow interrupted) “How are you certain it was me?”  
  
“Because you are a virulent louse, and because I saw you.”  
  
“You take the fun out of everything. But I suppose you’re right, I am an impudent wretch, aren’t I? A sneak? Creep? I have very few redeemable qualities.” Ianthe stated smugly, as if being a terrible person gave her bragging rights.  
  
“Answer the question.” Harrow said, fists clenched in impatience. Ianthe was just toying with her now and she hated to be toyed with.  
  
“Alright, fine, I was snooping. I heard most of it, although the context does slightly elude me. I’ve been aware of your activities here at Camp Mithraeum since day one, and I want in.” Of course she had, and Harrow ought to have accounted for this, to have checked outside the tent before conversing with Gideon. At least she did not comprehend everything, yet. Harrow could count her blessings on one hand and her grievances on two.  
  
“You are not going to involve yourself in this. You do not comprehend its importance.” Harrow stated simply.  
  
“And Gideon does? You didn’t really trust her with everything. I can guarantee I know more than she does.” Ianthe stated, rising to stand. She was a full head taller than Harrow but she would not be intimidated.  
  
“Gideon has the necessary knowledge.” Harrow felt a pang of guilt erupt unsolicited in her stomach and she thought of Gideon still asleep in their tent. She probably deserved to know everything but Harrow couldn’t just tell her, she didn’t know how.  
  
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter whether or not you let me in willingly. I have blackmail.” Ianthe took a step towards Harrow and unfolded her right hand. Within it were torn pages of scribbled on flyleaf, folded neatly into a tiny square.  
  
“How did you get those?” Harrow felt suddenly embarrassed, cheeks coloring without her permission.  
  
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist. The bible was just sitting there on the bunk, I saw the pages sticking out. And you two passing notes that night and I wanted to know.”  
  
“You are despicable.”  
  
“Maybe, but what are you going to do about it?” Ianthe was grinning now, satisfied in her obvious victory. Harrow wished she’d kept better track of the pages, or burned them for God’s sake. Ianthe’s interruption was an inevitability she’d failed to account for and she was kicking her past self for her lapse in judgement. She’d been too distracted.  
  
“What do you want?” Every word was damnation, hard as nails. Ianthe just kept smiling, those white teeth bared like a threat. It probably was one.  
  
“You’re so cute when you’re angry. Look at you, did you just wake up?” She gestured to Harrow’s nightgown and plain face, and Harrow didn’t dignify that with a reply. Ianthe was a pervert. “Your lips look fucked up, by the way, have you ever even heard of lip balm?”  
  
“Get to the point.” Harrow replied indignantly

“I already told you, I want in. You have no choice, really. Let me into your nefarious plans or I tell Mercy about your breaking and entering. Besides, I can even help you arrange a distraction the night of the dance.”  
  
Harrow considered this. It was true, she didn’t have a choice, unless it was to rip the proof from Ianthe’s hand and run. That would likely draw the attention of some of the other campers, maybe even the counselors. She couldn’t risk extra eyes on her by creating a stir, she needed them to think her harmless. Besides, Ianthe had longer legs and would likely just catch her. It was through gritted teeth and with a considerable amount of physical pain that she finally said, “Fine.” and Ianthe clapped her hands together in celebration.  
  
“Wonderful! We’ll have so much fun as a team, Harry.”  
  
“We aren’t a team.” Harrow insisted, thinking again about Gideon asleep in that tent. She couldn’t let Ianthe invade that tenuous little bubble of _something_ they had created. She would tell her when she needed to know. “What sort of distraction do you have in mind, then?”  
  
“It’s a surprise.” Ianthe tapped Harrow on the nose with one long pale finger. Harrow felt disgustingly violated. “You’ll know when it’s necessary.” She said smugly, folding her book into the crook of her elbow. From her pocket she took a tube of lip balm, slapping it into Harrow’s hand before she could protest. She then unzipped her tent and stepped inside, although not without a wink in Harrow’s direction.  
  
Harrow was left standing just outside the faded green tent, lip balm in hand, thinking: _fuck._ A prospective distraction was useful, yes, but any favor from Ianthe had a cost and Harrow was not ready to pay it. To allow Ianthe into their charade was a mistake in a long line of mistakes, leading from Harrow’s birth onwards. No matter, she could handle this. She had no choice, it was this or risk having her entire plan exposed. She was so close to the understanding she needed, so close to answering the unanswerable questions that had shattered her so many years ago.  
  


She got ready for the day after that, finally interrupting Gideon’s peaceful sleep in a rush as she grabbed a button up, sweater, and skirt to change into in the bathrooms near the parking lot, black toiletry bag in hand. The only other person in the bathroom was Corona, who got into the shower just as Harrow entered the facility. It was a carbon copy of the one in the main camp, right down to the cracked and dirty turquoise tiles pasted to the drywall. Showering and dressing in a public bathroom was incredibly undignified and uncomfortable, but the only other option was the tent or the woods. Harrow took a brisk, cold shower, shirt collar sticking to the back of her neck when she failed to dry herself properly. She applied her makeup the same way she did every day, pale foundation patted on with a blending sponge, dark eyeshadow blended into her eyebrows and hiding the constant purple bags under her eyes, black liquid lipstick stinging on her bitten lips. She couldn’t exactly remember when this became a part of her routine, but it had started off small: mascara, a touch of badly applied liner, lip gloss, and then it hit her all at once one year and she had never gone back. She liked it better this way.  
  


Coronabeth left before Harrow did, applying a cursory amount of makeup in a way that looked messy on purpose. Maybe that was meant to be charming, but it wouldn’t work on someone like Harrow. When she finally did gather all of her things to leave, Harrow stopped just at the doorway, her hand on the knob. Outside, she heard the voices of Mercy and Augustine, likely near the bus and arguing. They were always arguing and Harrow wondered whose idea it had been to pair the two together. Maybe Teacher, he did possess a frightening amount of optimism. 

“I don’t want to be there, it reminds me of _her_ .” Augustine was saying  
  
“You’re never going to get over that, are you?” Mercymorn replied, exasperated. “You still have to come, John asked us. And it wasn’t my fault!”  
  
Augustine responded, “Well, she’s not here to take the blame.”  
  
“It was two decades ago! I have no idea why you can’t just get over it already!!”  
  
“Get over it? You’re a callous bitch, Joy.” His voice was quieter now but still just as angry.  
  
“Oh, and what happened to all that _before_ talk? You’re just lashing out on me because I won’t get on board with another stupid plan. Remember the last one, Augustine? It blew up completely, we lost it!”  
  
“We couldn’t have accounted for the crash. We just needed a better plan. If you would just listen-”  
  
“I am done listening to you! Just stop talking!!” Mercy interrupted him, her voice getting farther away. She was most likely storming off, back to the camp to lay her disapproval upon whichever unsuspecting teenager she encountered first.  
  
Harrow remained there, with the door just barely cracked, for five minutes more until she was sure that Augustine had left as well. She ought to have been trailing those two more, it was obvious that they were wrapped up in this somehow, given that their names had been two of the three only ones left on the list. Harrow was kicking herself for the multitude of misjudgements she had made thus far, if she had been smart she’d be done already and would never have had to involve Gideon in the first place.  
  
When Harrow returned, the tent was empty and Gideon’s sleeping bag had been kicked into a pile near the tent door. She added her nightgown and toiletry bag to the pile on her side and looked around for Gideon, who she spotted in front of the twin’s tent. For a moment, Harrow felt panicked, but across from Gideon was Coronabeth, not Ianthe. That made her feel something different, though, and possibly something worse. Watching as Gideon spoke to the blonde, Harrow’s blood boiled. Corona was beautiful, probably even more so in Gideon’s eyes. She distantly remembered a month ago when she had her AP Chemistry class just across from Gideon’s regular Chemistry class, and how she had watched through the window in the door at the way Gideon floundered over Corona. There was no wonder she’d failed the class. But this was an idiotic way to feel, especially over Gideon, so Harrow turned her back and went into the tent to work on her grand plan.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who's been keeping up with this fic! Feel free to chat with me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	12. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the counselors are away, Corona has the brilliant idea to get everyone drunk.

Gideon had awoken that morning to the horror of watching Harrowhark Nonagesimus rummage through her bag, the irritation rolling off her in waves. She hadn’t moved though, preferring Harrow to think her asleep than to deal with her wrath so early in the morning. When she did get up, she skipped showering and just changed into jeans and a t-shirt from pride (reading _“Kiss more girls”_ ) which she had mutilated into a tank top ages ago. Her back was sore and her dinner of hot-dogs had been inadequate, leaving her exhausted in more than one way. Another shitty day at Camp Mithraeum, although at least it marked only one week left. That still felt like too long, and Gideon wondered how Aiglamene was doing without her. The old soldier was likely having the time of her life having rid herself of her freeloading adopted teenager. The only fun to look forward to was committing more crimes with her arch enemy during a formal event. Gross. Gideon was never going to fail another class, that was for sure.  
  
Gideon left the tent in search of breakfast, and didn’t make it far before she heard her name.  
  
“Hey, Gideon!” Corona called from near her tent, beckoning her closer with a conspiratorial smile. What the fuck? Was this actually happening? She needed to act cool, or _normal_ , at least. She approached the tent, sliding her sunglasses on for maximum Cool Points, sort of ruining the effect when she stumbled over a rock in her path.  
  
“Oh, hey Corona.” She said, intelligently. Corona was wearing an off the shoulder peasant top half tucked into jean shorts, and the sight was enough to make all the gears in Gideon’s brain grind to a screeching, fucked up halt.  
  
“Guess what I just overheard?” Corona’s voice was overflowing with mirth.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Oh, come on! You’re supposed to guess! Whatever, I heard that Mercy and Augustine are going to be slipping out after everyone goes to bed, some sort of meeting with Teacher. Anyway, I had a brilliant idea.” Corona said, and Gideon’s brain cells were stumbling over one another to guess what on earth the gorgeous blonde classified as _brilliant_ .  
  
“What’s the plan?” Gideon replied, heart stuttering. She wished she knew how to talk to girls, she was such a bumbling idiot.  
  
“I have a fake ID, and there’s a liquor store attached to the gas station only a little ways away. I was thinking we’d make summer camp a little more interesting.” Her violet eyes sparkled and she was like a ray of sunshine, finally a reprieve from shitty ass bible camp. Getting drunk in the woods without the company of grown adults was probably the best idea anyone had ever had.  
  
“Okay, so why are you telling me?” _Idiot!_ Why did she _say_ that? All of her wished that the answer was that she wanted Gideon to come along on that joy ride, to get a breath of fresh air off this shitty campground.  
  
“I was hoping you would cover me, it won’t be more than an hour but I can’t have Mercy figuring out. Could you do that for me, please?” Women with much more resolve could not have said no to Coronabeth Tridentarius, and so all that Gideon could do was nod and smile, even if she was deeply disappointed with the request. She tried not to linger on that feeling though, because there were still good times to be had as soon as the booze was broken out that night, she just had to live through the rest of the day. That would be the hard part.  
  
  
The rest of the morning involved a breakfast of granola bars and fruit, and then bible study with Mercymorn. Coronabeth returned just after breakfast and if Mercy had noticed her absence at all, she did not make that known. Gideon just wondered where Corona had stashed the booze, given that she’d arrived back at the clearing empty-handed. After that was a nature hike, this time led by Augustine. He seemed to be more lax on the bunk buddies rule, therefore everyone sort of conglomerated messily behind him in their distinct little groups. In a surprise to Gideon and probably everyone else, Ianthe fell in step not beside her sister but beside Augustine. Another surprise was that, no longer tied to Gideon via stupid ass rules, Harrow did not bolt to get away from her. In fact, she remained at Gideon’s side without a word. There hadn’t been many words exchanged between them that day and Harrow had been particularly peeved during the morning. Their hike went on without incident and very little conversation, Gideon felt this uncomfortable itch somewhere in the back of her mind to say something, anything, to fill the silence, but when she tried Harrow had been so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear. That, or she had ignored Gideon and that would have been in character for her, anyway.  
  
After lunch, they played a few games of capture the flag, teams divided at random, in which the younger teens absolutely dominated, along with Camilla. Jeannemarry and Isaac were vicious in a competition and Camilla was faster than anyone could have anticipated. Aside from Palamedes, of course, who just looked proud of her. After a first round mishap resulted in her being shoved into a bush and having to be extracted by Gideon in another very brave and selfless move, Harrow sat out on the sidelines beside Dulcinea, actually speaking to her for what must have been the first time since the camp had begun. Later, they tried to fish in the river with varying levels of success. Gideon got very bored very quickly, and therefore caught nothing at all. It was just catch and release anyway, without real fishing poles but with fishing line tied to sticks, and little wire hooks tied to the line so that the fish could be thrown back easily. It seemed unnecessarily traumatic for the poor bastards, regardless. Camilla unsurprisingly caught several, taking suggestions from Palamedes who lingered a half step behind her, watching the water. The most entertaining thing to come out of the whole situation had been when poor Jeannemary tossed her line back and hooked Protasilaus. Jeannemary was completely mortified, despite Protesilaus’ attempts to reassure her that it was completely fine.  
  
Otherwise, they did absolutely fuck-all and it was incredibly boring, just as every single day before had been boring. They had another campfire and another dinner, although this time the wind was blowing smoke into everybody’s faces and a rogue ember burned a hole through Naberius’ shirt, causing him to shriek in a way which he would probably never live down. Gideon almost felt bad for him. By the time everything had been packed in and it was pretty dark outside, she began to wonder if Corona had just been screwing with her. She didn’t understand the motive though, and so when she found herself back in the tent with Harrow, pajama-clad, she decided she would just wait it out.  
  
“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Harrow said, eventually. She sounded tired, laid down in her thin sleeping bag. Gideon, across from her, was sitting cross-legged and peering through the mesh tent window at the sky. She could’ve sworn she’d seen a flash then: maybe it was a meteor, or maybe it was just the alien mothership coming to take Harrowhark back to her home planet. Whatever it was, she was bored enough to watch and wait for it to happen again.  
  
“Yeah, I will, but Corona snuck out to get booze. I think she’s waiting for Mercy and Augustine to leave.”  
  
“You’re planning to get drunk? Here?” Harrow’s voice was critical, and Gideon turned, smirking down at her in the half-dark.  
  
“It’s the best fun plan anyone has had all week! Of course you’d be a stick in the mud about it.” Gideon had expected this and it wasn’t as if she wanted Harrow to join, anyway.  
  
“I just think it’s irresponsible; there’s no supervision, Griddle.”  
  
“That’s the best part! Haven’t you ever been to a party? No, don’t answer that. Have you ever even drank before?”  
  
“Of course not, I would never debase myself by becoming inebriated. My body is a temple.” Harrow was condemnatory, and Gideon felt a bit wounded.  
  
“No, your body is a pile of mean, pointy sticks. You are so boring! You should get off your high horse once and a while and just exist as a teen, you might actually have fun, Harrow.” Gideon said, irritably, turning away again to look at the moon. It was crescent and gleaming, half obscured by a wispy grey cloud. Crickets chirped from somewhere nearby and the breeze floated lazilly through the mesh tent window. She wished Harrow could lighten up a little, but she’d been full-on sepulchre since age ten and showed no signs of developing any other personality traits. Not having parents just made her completely hyper-critical and awfully parental, and Gideon didn’t need that. She needed fun, to pretend like bible camp could actually be enjoyable for one night. Whatever, Harrow was hard wired to be a pain in the ass. 

It felt like a thousand years of silence stretched between them, but it was probably only a few minutes before Gideon heard Corona’s loud footsteps heading in the direction of their tent.  
  
“Gideon, hey! They just left,” Corona unzipped the tent flap just a little and stuck her head in. “Babs is trying to get a fire going, everyone else is up except Jeanne and Isaac.” She said, and that sounded pretty fair. At least by Gideon’s standards, fourteen was probably too young for underaged drinking in the woods. “Are you joining us, Nonagesimus?” Her voice was infinitely sweet, but Harrow simply returned her smile with a cold, dark stare. That settled it, then. Gideon slipped her feet into her boots, knotted the laces, and stumbled out of the tent door. She zipped it shut without even a look back in Harrowhark’s direction. Let her be a fucking square, an ancient shitty museum piece, sad and boring and friendless. Whatever. Fuck.  
  
She followed Corona toward the center of the camp. As promised, everyone else was awake and gathered around the pile of sticks and brush that Naberius was knelt over trying to coax into a fire. Gideon was a little surprised that so many of her bible-camping compatriots were lining up to violate the sanctity of it by getting super drunk. Then again, they were all teenagers. It appeared that Naberius had taken the lighter fluid from Augustine’s tent and was drowning the wood in it. If he didn’t get his eyebrows blown off, Gideon would be incredibly surprised. Camilla, Palamedes, and Dulcinea were sitting a good five feet out of the blast zone, Camilla sipping from a beer can.  
  
“So, what’d you get. Corona beer?” Gideon joked, grinning towards the tall, hot blonde in front of her. Coronabeth turned her head and looked at Gideon with that patronizing _you are such an idiot_ smile.  
  
“Gross, Gideon. I would never drink that cheap shit. You need a lesson in good booze. Here.” Corona knelt down next to one of the coolers, and then was putting a room-temperature can into her hand. It was some craft beer that Gideon didn’t recognize the label of, and it wasn’t cold, so gross, but she popped the top anyway and took a long sip. It tasted a little sweet, a little bitter maybe with a hint of something floral but the flavor really wasn’t what mattered to Gideon: it had a high alcohol content and that was the only box she needed checked. So she took another sip as she watched Corona digging through one of the bags she’d brought. Her sister Ianthe moved to kneel beside her, gathering some solo cups in one hand and a bottle of cranberry juice in the other. Of course, the Tridentarius twins would make actual mixed drinks for the woods. The two were notorious for the parties they threw at their huge house in the rich part of the suburbs, the kind of parties that got parodied in high school movies and were never actually that fun in real life. At least, not for Gideon, who had always been there alone and only ever got to drunk-makeout with a pretty girl once. She didn’t expect this middle of the night rendezvous to go much better, but being drunk was always an improvement and so she’d take it.  
  
“Hey, Corona, when are they coming back anyway?” Gideon asked, her eyes searching the barren campground. Naberius finally got the fire going and it grew immediately, swallowing the accelerant and shooting three feet in the air. He swore and fell backwards onto his ass, and Ianthe laughed.  
  
“I’m not completely sure, but it sounded like they might be away all night. It doesn’t matter, they won’t catch us.” Corona replied with more assurance that Gideon thought reasonable.  
  
“Well, I hope not, because this sounds like something Mercy would be legitimately pissed about.” Gideon replied, taking a seat in her plastic lawn chair, pointedly ignoring the empty one beside it.  
  
“I’ve done more scandalous things in more sacred places.” Corona replied with a wink, sending Gideon’s mind reeling for whatever the hell Coronabeth Tridentarius considered scandalous. It was good she was sitting down.  
  
Shortly after she finished her first beer she was handed another by Camilla, who was on her third and showed no signs of actually being inebriated. Gideon, however, was pretty buzzed and that fact helped her warm up to the campfire conversation and actually participate for once. Protesilaus was talking to Dulcinea about gardening and she looked incredibly bored, eyes searching for the nearest alcoholic beverage.  
  
“Vodka cranberry?” Corona eventually asked, proffering a full solo cup towards Gideon. “It’s not _really_ the real kind, since I didn't have the accoutrements, but a crappy mixed drink has a bit of romance in it, don’t you think?”  
  
Gideon could only nod and smile, taking a long sip from the cup. She didn’t really like cranberry juice, but it was a means to an end and Corona wasn’t a bad bartender. The next cup was passed to Camilla, then one to Palamedes, and Protasilaus. Naberius, who was definitely the stick-up-the-ass macho type, declined one and just grabbed another beer. The twins hit their plastic cups together and drank, Corona sitting in a plastic chair with Ianthe on her lap. They both wore satin slip nighties which reflected the fire light and made Gideon weaker.  
  
“Hey Cam, can I have a sip of that?” Said Dulcie, who had thus far been empty handed, a mischievous smile on her face.  
  
“Dulcinea, I’ve read up on your medications and you aren’t supposed to mix them with alcohol.” Palamedes said, practically, and only a little bit frightened.  
  
“Yeah, I know that. Oh, Pal, live a little!” Dulcinea replied, and the conversation went on a little while longer. Dulcinea was playfully jovial and Palamedes was mortified.  
  
By the time Dulcie accepted a cup of just cranberry juice, Camilla had downed her entire drink and asked for another. Gideon had finished hers and Corona graciously refilled it, zoning out halfway through as she stared up into the sky. There was another streak of light across the edgeless black, definitely a meteor, and watching it Gideon realized that she was decidedly drunk. The edges of her mind blurred and her stomach burned in a way she was only barely aware of, sloshing with carbonation and alcohol. She heard the distant sound of Coronabeth giggling, this time twinned by the snorting laughter of Ianthe and it was genuine in a way that Gideon had never witnessed. Palamedes, an obvious lightweight, was slurring his words even though he’d only had two drinks, and Camilla had broken into a gorgeous drunken smile. Gideon felt warm and numb and tingly, her head empty of thoughts but filled up with stars, eyes wide as she watched them twinkle down above her. It was a little bit beautiful again, and this time she didn’t hate the thought of that.  
  
Slouched down in her chair, cup tucked between her legs and head toward the sky, Gideon barely noticed when the seat beside her was taken. Eventually she did turn her head, startled when Harrow’s coal-black eyes were staring back.  
  
“Oh, hey, you’ve graced us with your presence!” Gideon smiled, sitting up a little straighter as she admired the disapproving face of her bunk buddy, her most dastardly foe. Harrow was pretty then, even with that perpetual frown carving wrinkles into her face, firelight casting a warm glow over her skin. Gideon realized she was staring. “Here, try this.” She said finally, holding her cup out to Harrow and nearly sloshing its contents all over her lap. Harrow didn’t say anything, but she took the cup and sniffed it, before taking the tiniest of cautious sips. She gagged, and spit vodka cranberry into the dirt.  
  
“That is revolting.” She said, and handed the cup back to Gideon. Gideon took a very long sip just to prove a point.   
  
“It’s fine actually, you Spooky Scary Skeleton.” Gideon replied back, slurring the _S_ of each word. Harrow simply rolled her eyes, the hilarious reference lost on her. If Gideon had service on her phone, she would’ve been blasting the song already. She made a note to do that as soon as they were out of this place. “Why did you even come out here? Come make me feel guilty for having a good time?” Gideon prodded.  
  
Harrow was silent for a moment, before she said, “No, Griddle. I just came to make sure you weren’t dead yet.”  
  
“Oooooh, Nonagesimus, you care about me?” Gideon said through a shit-eating grin, taking another drink and sloshing cranberry juice down her chin.  
  
“I do not.” Harrow said, glowering. “I hate you. Mercy would just blame me if you ended up with alcohol poisoning.” 

  
“Nooo,” Gideon slurred, leaning in her chair towards Harrow, “I think you like me.”  
  
“I do not.” Harrow replied, suddenly embarrassed. Gideon felt a warm, smug satisfaction watching the way Harrow’s cheeks flushed.  
  
“Oh, but you do. The last couple days is proof enough.” Gideon insisted, leaning a bit closer. Her face was above Harrow’s shoulder now, and Harrow didn’t lean away, just froze. “It’s okay, honey, I kinda like you too.” With a wink, she leaned back into her chair, downing the rest of her drink and abandoning the cup between her legs.  
  
The realization of what she had just said dawned on her a minute later as she stared up at the stars again, a sudden moment of sobriety and panic seizing her entire being. What the _fuck_ had she just said? She searched around for Corona to make her another drink, or maybe the bottle of vodka to just fucking chug, but she was on the ground cackling at something Dulcinea had said. Ianthe, beside her, was looking Gideon in the eyes with a smirk. Oh god, everyone had heard her say that. Why did she _say_ that? Her cheeks felt hot and she was overcome with nausea, leaning forward with her head in her hands. She wished she was sober - no, she wished she was more drunk. No, she wished she was back home and none of this confusing bullshit had ever had a chance to transpire. Her life was ruined. It was a lie, too, she hated Harrowhark. She had to. There was no way in Hell she could actually, genuinely like the evil stick sitting beside her. Gross. Just thinking about that made her stomach do flips. Eventually she settled for another beer, and was halfway through downing it before it was tugged away from her lips by one skeletal hand.  
  
“Dear God, Griddle, drink _water._ ” Harrow said, mortified, prying the beer away from Gideon’s weak hands. If she hadn’t been drunk she could have fought, but she just sat prone in her chair and tried to let that pleasant buzzing feeling return and overrule the panic eating at her soul. It kind of worked, and so when Harrow handed her a bottle of water she took it without protest. She just tried not to think, not about how she had been sort of almost happy to see Harrow there, and definitely not about what she had said. Those words were etched into her brain now, and she probably couldn’t rely on not remembering them tomorrow. How could she have ever believed that getting drunk and bible camp had been a good idea? Fuck.  
  
Gideon couldn’t be sure of how much time had passed, as it felt like hours that she had watched meteors streak across the sky, but maybe it had only been minutes before Harrow had gently nudged her arm.  
  
“Nav, you should go to sleep.” She said, and Gideon turned to face her, grinning again.  
  
“Look up at the sky, there’s a meteor shower.” She said, raising one hand to point upwards before dropping it again. “Come on, my midnight lady, look!”  
  
Harrow did look, but she didn’t say anything. Gideon could see the reflection of light dancing in her eyes, like they were filled with stars, too. It was captivating. When Harrow caught her looking again, she frowned. “You’re incredibly drunk. You need to sleep.” She rose to stand, and Gideon was almost certain that she was actually concerned. But Harrow had no heart, she’d traded it to the Devil for infinite evil power in some fucked up ritual a myriad ago.  
  
With a sigh, Gideon rose. She stood up too quickly, feeling her body wobble and whirl on it’s own accord, and it was only just barely that Camilla caught her by the shoulder and straightened her. “Alright, my queen, your wish is my command.” Gideon said, accompanied with an exaggerated bow that made her feel incredibly dizzy. She leaned her elbow on her chair, and Harrow grabbed her other one, leading her away from the fire and towards their open tent. It was still bug filled and the ground was all lumps, but Gideon was drunk enough to be comfortable when she practically collapsed onto the floor, squirming into her sleeping bag. Harrow zipped the tent shut and laid down on her side of the tent, eyes facing the green ceiling.  
  
“Goodnight, Harrow.” Gideon said. There was a pause.  
  
“Goodnight, Gideon.”   
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank some of the folks at The People’s Tomb discord server for giving me the idiots getting drunk at bible camp idea, also shoutout to my very real bible camp experience in which I accidentally hooked a girl with a fake fishing pole when we were doing catch and release. It was completely hilarious and completely terrible. And as always, feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	13. Another awful morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon deals with the consequences of her actions and is forced to attend church again.

When Gideon awoke the next morning, light just beginning to stream in through the unzipped tent window, birds twittering in the distance, she felt like ass. It wasn’t only because of the headache that felt like someone had shoved a hot poker through her forehead yesterday and had left her to deal with the aftermath, and it wasn't just the nausea and churning of her stomach. Both of those were bearable, she’d dealt with worse. No, Gideon didn’t have the mental capacity to take stock of her physical ailments because she was suffering from something much, much worse: embarrassment. She remembered the events of the previous night in perfect, crystal clear recollection and she very much wished she didn’t. She had drunkenly told Harrow that she liked her and everyone else had seen. Her reputation as a stone-cold badass was ruined, and even worse, what if Harrow had taken that to heart. Worse, what if it was true? She remembered some stupid addage she’d heard years earlier: _drunk man’s words, sober man’s thoughts_ . That was bullshit though, no one who really knew them could so much as _accuse_ Gideon Nav of having feelings for Harrowhark Nonagesimus that weren’t related directly to utter hatred. 

Like every other morning at Camp Mithraeum, it was an early morning for Gideon Nav. Her back ached and although she’d slept like a rock, she felt lethargic and exhausted. When at long last she blinked open her bleary eyes, she just lay there for a while, eyes trained on the faded green plastic above her head. It was dirty and worn, sewn back together with hasty stitches that only served to tear more holes in the tarp. No wonder the bugs were getting in. Waiting, listening, she tried to focus everything left functioning in her being to detect the presence of Harrow without looking for her. She could already imagine Harrow’s scornful gaze; she would yell at her, call her names, prod at the sore spots in Gideon’s soul that she’d been heretofore uncharacteristically ignoring. She resented the peaceful symphony of nature outside, the cool breeze floating across her tired face, the cliched overblown quiet serenity which left her unable to ignore the barrage of idiotic thoughts overwhelming her cerebrum. 

When eventually she turned her head, resigned to her fate of being mercilessly harangued by an evil stick, Gideon was both shocked and relieved to see the sleeping bag lying beside hers was empty. Harrow wasn’t in the tent. She most likely was getting ready for the day already, or had run away into the woods in the middle of the night, never to be seen again. If only. Gideon sat up slowly, head throbbing, and she was scandalized to discover the proximity of both sleeping bags. The first night camping she had scooted herself as far against the wall of the tent as physically possible, but this morning she and the other sleeping bag were in the center of the tent, mere inches apart. Harrow wasn’t there, though, so obviously her empty sleeping bag had just been pushed towards Gideon’s coincidentally as she left the tent. She did not stop to consider any alternative interpretations of this situation because fuck _that_ right in the ear.

Today Gideon’s teenage rebellion didn’t have the same bite as it had days prior, having been diluted with alcohol and the compounding of every terrible night’s sleep since she’d arrived. Therefore, she didn’t even look at the shirt she pulled out of her duffle bag, tossing it over her arm with its accompanying pair of jeans and grabbing her toiletry bag. She didn’t have a mirror to verify, but she knew she looked like absolute shit down to her sweat slick clothes and hair hanging down in oily hanks across her forehead. She felt thoroughly disgusting and had so many regrets. She basically regretted every single decision that led to her being hungover in a stuffy old tent in the middle of the woods, at church camp.  
  
Outside the tent, just about everyone in their little group appeared to be awake already and getting ready for the day. Mercy, who was packing things back into the cooler and had already dismantled the tent she and Dulcinea shared, was dressed not in her horrid neon camp tee but in a modest grey dress. Shit, it was Sunday. They were going to have to pile into the chapel and listen to old dudes talk about stupid godly bullshit until they all simultaneously died of boredom. Already exhausted at the prospect of church, Gideon’s barely functioning brain stuttered to a halt and left her there for a moment to just observe her surroundings. Mercymourn wasn’t yelling at anyone, so perhaps their counselor was none the wiser about their awful little shindig the evening prior. All of their trash (empty cans, cups, bottles) were nowhere to be seen, and Gideon was just surprised that anyone had been lucid enough to clean it up. Camilla was in the middle of packing her tent back into its tattered bag, already showered and in her church greys. Despite the fact that she’d drank the most out of anyone last night, she looked just as collected as she did every other morning at Camp Mithraeum, if not a little bit tired. If Corona and Ianthe were hungover, they didn’t show it either. Both girls were fresh from the shower and dressed for church, dismantling their tent slowly during a heated conversation. Gideon couldn’t tell if they were arguing, or just very passionate about the subject matter. Naberius and Protasilaus, who were struggling just about as hard taking apart their tent as they had been putting it together, both looked tired. Naberius more so, and he was very in need of a shower. Palamedes, lightweight extraordinaire, looked like he needed a snack and a power nap. The younger teens, of course, were none-the-wiser of the night’s activities, watching from the sidelines as their respective bunk buddies took charge of tent destruction. It dawned on Gideon then that she’d need to take her tent apart as well, as if her morning couldn’t get any worse.  
  
By the time she arrived at the showers, there wasn’t any hot water left, so her cold shower lasted just long enough to get her clean. After that she changed, she stood shivering at the counter, brushing her teeth and styling her hair. There were bags under her eyes, faintly purple to go gorgeously with the yellowing bruise on her nose. Confirmed, she looked like shit. She would have given anything for a snack, an aspirin, and a good night’s sleep literally anywhere else. It turned out the shirt she’d grabbed was another one of the many _parental advisory_ band tees in her arsenal, at least that meant her church appearances would be consistent. She was relieved for the aviator sunglasses to hide her tired eyes from the zealots who would inevitably crucify her for daring to disrespect God or whatever by getting drunk on His campground. 

Back at the clearing, Harrow was dressed and busy messily packing her things back up. Gideon did the same, tossing her duffle bag into the grass and staring morosely at the task at hand. The tent was proving to be, at this point, a better candidate for Gideon’s arch-enemy than Harrowhark was. Gideon wanted to light it on fire, but in lieu of committing arson she decided to just swallow what remained of her pride.  
  
“Hey, Camilla.” She called over her shoulder. “Can you help us take our tent down?” Before Gideon had even finished her question, Camilla stood up from where she’d been sitting in the grass, abandoning her book to walk swiftly towards the task at hand. Without a word, she dismantled the tent as expertly as she had put it up, and within minutes all of it’s poles and parts were elegantly folded and zipped into its original bag, which Camilla tossed into the pile forming in the center of the clearing. When Gideon expressed her gratitude, Camilla simply nodded and headed back to her book. Gideon was not accustomed to thanking God for anything, but she thanked God for Camilla. 

Within an hour, those of them who hadn’t driven themselves were ushered back on to the shitty bus, breakfastless, to make their way back to the main camp in time for church. Harrow took the window seat and Gideon sat heavily beside her, folding in on herself. Leaning her head into her hands, she willed for her headache, nausea, and everything else to go away. She wished to not be sitting beside Harrow, who she’d made a complete fool of herself in front of the night prior. She wished to be home, to have woken up from all of this like it was a bad dream. And she knew she was being dramatic, but how else was she to respond being thrown mercilessly into bible camp and having to confront having feelings of any positive nature towards the world’s worst goth? 

“Here.” Harrow said, startling Gideon out of her brooding. She lifted her head to see that she was being offered a bottle of water and a granola bar. Confused, she took them. Harrow seemed to register her expression, because she added: “You look terrible. Water and food are essential to overcoming a hangover.”  
  
“I could’ve gone without being insulted.” Gideon said, greedily uncorking the water bottle and drinking about a quarter of it. “How do you know that anyway? You said you don’t drink.”  
  
“I don’t drink, I merely possess a passing familiarity with biological function.” Harrow replied haughtily.  
  
“Gross.” Gideon unwrapped the granola bar and began wolfing it down. She felt just about 60 percent better already. “Where did you even get these?” They hadn’t been offered anything in the way of food that morning, simply ordered to get on the bus and wait until after mass for breakfast. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Was all that Harrowhark said, and Gideon briefly imagined her stealing them from Mercy’s cooler before dawn. That speculation was immediately shattered because it was inconceivable to imagine that Harrow cared enough about Gideon to go out of her way like that. These were probably just leftover from breakfast yesterday, but the undeniable counterpoint was that the water was cold. Perhaps this was a kindness then, being offered anything at all from perpetually selfish Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Gideon didn’t want to imagine that she cared, though, between them resided so many awful things that it was difficult to conceive of anything different. It was as if the land between them had been burned infertile and then poisoned repeatedly with every single _“I hate you”_ to the point where nothing could grow there every again. Yet, there was very nearly something. It was imperceptible, not even a sprout. Laying buried deep, was something that had never existed between them before - or perhaps it had, all those years ago. It had been building, threatening to burst and fill the space between them with something new. Gideon was absolutely terrified of _new_ , of entering uncharted territory, of understanding all the things she had locked away in the recesses of her mind. Instead, she ignored the familiar ache in her heart and just finished her water and granola.  
  
“Thanks, Harrow.” She said finally, tossing the trash into her duffle bag.  
  
“I wouldn’t have had to do a thing if you had simply remained sober in the first place.” Harrow replied acidly, poisoning the land between them anew. She didn’t care, she never would. Why did Gideon want her to? God, how she hated herself for wanting. 

**  
  
Being hungover in a church was definitely in the top 10 worst experiences of Gideon’s short life. The Christian pop blasting over speakers in the rafters made it feel like her brain had been tossed into a blender on high. The rainbow of light shining through the stained glass windows was no longer beautiful, it just hurt her fucking eyes. The wooden pew she sat on was uncomfortable and really all she wanted was to fold in on herself and take a nap. Harrow sat beside her with her spine straight and eyes forward, resting bitch face only complimented by her usual makeup. Gideon knew then that she had died at some point before arriving at Camp Mithraeum and this was Hell. This was God’s way of punishing her for her many crimes and she did not, in any way, deserve it.  
  
Eventually, after her eardrums had fully ruptured and Gideon had given up on feeling relentlessly sorry for herself, the music stopped. Teacher was already on the stage, standing behind the little wooden lectern with the microphone in his hand. This Sunday, their cabin group had been placed closer to the left front of the church, so that there was only a single row of pews separating Gideon’s from the stage. Teacher was wearing a faded brown button up with a very worn collar. It occurred to Gideon that Teacher was very much like the camp: mundane, careworn, and old as balls. Well, he wasn’t really _that_ old, but Gideon Nav was a teenager and therefore anyone above the age of thirty was ancient.  
  
“Welcome to the beginning of the second week at Camp Mithraeum!” He said into the microphone. He still didn’t fit the mold of enthusiastic zealot that Gideon had come accustomed to seeing in charge of churches, but he didn’t feel out of place here anymore. It was like the entire camp was him, down to the neglected cabins and dirt in the floorboards. She couldn’t imagine any other person at the helm of this awful place. He was aggressively normal, with such a forgettable face. At the same time, he was entirely unusual with his down to earth, kind disposition. It nearly felt genuine, but Gideon’s upbringing had laced her with paranoia.  
  
“We’re so happy to have everyone here with God watching over us. When we started the Canaan House, the charity that Camp Mithraeum belongs to, there were sixteen of us. Of course, people have come and gone, it’s been over twenty years. Gosh, I’m rambling.” He cleared his throat. “It is just a spectacular thing to have so many people packed into this church and enjoying the camp. I have always told my friends in Cannan that our cause is just and the will of God. This here, we are all living proof of that.” His voice was impassioned now and Gideon wondered if she ought to alter her original assessment of him. All eyes were trained on him, including Gideon’s despite how desperately they begged to be closed.  
  
“I’ll try to keep this short, I know that some of you just came back from the camping trip and are dying to eat something. Let us just begin with a prayer, and I’ll hand the service off to the actual reverend.” Teacher said, and like clockwork, heads were bowed. All except Gideon’s, and she was left to simply observe the fervent movement of Teacher’s lips.  
  
“God, we thank you for the beds we sleep in and the food we eat, we thank you for each and every child in this church who came here because it was your will. And we pray for the safety of our campers and that you will be watching over each and every one of them.” It was another nonsense prayer in a long line of nonsense prayers, but just as Gideon thought he was done, as an afterthought John Gaius added: “We pray that which slumbers below remains in slumber. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.”  
  
This time, it was Harrowhark’s turn to snap out of her divine trance with a look of utter shock, dark eyes fixated on Teacher as he raised his bowed head. There was no cryptic addition from her, lips pursed into a bitter line as she stared daggers into the camp director in front of them. Obviously she wasn’t enjoying Teacher encroaching on her freaky, devil-worshipping brand.  
  
Heads were raised, amens were murmured, and the mic was passed off to the same priest as the previous week so that he could begin the sermon. As it was customary for her to ignore all religious drivel, Gideon’s eyes remained on Teacher as he stepped off the left of the stage. He didn’t leave, simply leaning against the windowsill a few feet away from Gideon’s pew, eyes on the stage as he waited to give the closing remarks whenever the impassioned preacher decided to be finished. He was haloed by rainbow light, a glowing aura surrounded his entire being as if he were divine. Gideon realized she had never quite gotten a good look at the man, so she took the time to observe. His hair was short and dark and his skin was olive, spattered with freckles from too much time in the sun. Teacher must have caught Gideon looking because he turned his head toward her and smiled that gentle, paternal smile. His dark eyes caught the light of the window and for a moment, she could have sworn they glowed amber like hers did when touched by the sun. They were the color of clover honey, of golden tea, but only for that split second before his head turned back to the stage and once again they were a cold, depthless black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter than usual, I wanted to add some more but everything I plan to happen next is just a bit too tonally different, so I decided to leave it there. The next chapter will most likely end up being a lot more fluff and goofy camp activities, with a dash of griddlehark angst because I can't seem to stop myself from making every chapter so damn angsty. As always, feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	14. Team Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The campers built rafts as a teambuilding activity and it goes poorly.

At breakfast that morning, something of a conspiracy was afoot. Gideon, sluggish with a lack of sleep and a system chock full of acetaldehyde, arrived at the table second to last. Taking up Harrow’s usual spot across from Gideon were Palamedes, Camilla, Dulcie, and Protasilaus, along with the two ghastly teens. When Gideon sat down beside Harrow because it was the only place left at the bench, she could’ve sworn that Camilla and Palamedes were smirking. This was some abysmal mind game they were playing, forcing her and Harrow into closer proximity because of what Gideon’s stupid idiot mouth had spouted last night of it’s own accord. Of course they had heard. Everyone had heard, and now they were getting some sick satisfaction at watching a hungover Gideon interacting with her arch-nemesis. Gideon decided then that she hated the lot of them, even Dulcie, because they were a gaggle of assholes who had it out for her specifically. Harrow didn’t seem too happy either; she angled her entire body away and folded into the very corner of the bench, leaving a full foot of space in between them. 

Luckily, Gideon had a tray piled high with Belgian waffles, eggs, and bacon to attend to. She stuffed her face during another erroneous round of droning prayers and pretended like Harrow and the rest of the camp didn’t exist. The food was fortifying and the nausea began to ebb away, leaving Gideon with just the dull headache, a sore back, and her trademarked petulant teen attitude, only about 20 percent worse than usual.  
  
Halfway through the meal, Augustine spoke up. “Alright kids, we have a lot on the roster today. It’s a big team building day. The name of the game is trusting in God and your bunk buddy.” He seemed to be looking through his phone for a list. Gideon anticipated some new and exciting bruises, an inevitable result of trusting in Harrow. For the first time since church, Gideon ventured a look at her bunk buddy. She had eaten half a waffle and was pushing eggs around on her plate. Her dark gaze was fixed sourly on the remaining waffles, looking scornful enough that the waffle must have been slandering the name of her dead mother.  
  
“Are you going to actually eat?” Gideon asked her, nudging her in the shoulder. So much for Harrow’s _“passing familiarity with biological function”_ because Gideon couldn’t remember a time in her life where Harrow finished her full plate.  
  
“I _am_ eating, Griddle.” Harrow hissed back with a nudge of her sharply boned elbow straight to Gideon’s ribs. ( _“Ouch!”_ ) 

“Well, if you aren’t going to eat your bacon give it to me.” Gideon had already finished the bacon on her plate and had noticed how Harrow pushed hers to the very corner of her tray, a fate which it probably didn’t deserve. 

“What?” Harrow said in her best scandalized, pearl-clutching intonation.  
  
“You obviously don’t want it, it shouldn’t go to waste.” 

Compelled by Gideon’s amazing skills of persuasion, obviously, Harrow rolled her eyes and tossed her bacon onto Gideon’s empty tray. Satisfied in her victory, she grinned and gave a mock-bow. 

“Much appreciated, sweet cheeks.” If Gideon had been stupid, she might have thought that Harrow was suppressing a smile, that the reddening of her cheeks was from something other than anger this time. Gideon wasn’t stupid.  
  


“So,” Augustine said over the chatter, “no bible study or free time today, aside from after dinner if we finish early. Our first activity will be at the lake, so once breakfast gets out we’ll go back to the cabins to change into swimming gear and then meet right where the path lets out on the beach. Are we all clear?” There was a resounding shrug from the campers, aside from a couple (Corona and Jeannemary) who looked elated to do anything involving the water. Gideon resented the idea of team building on principal, because she and Harrow were not a _team_ in anything, but less Jesus-y nonsense and pretending to read was a net positive in her book. 

**

By the time Gideon had finished changing into her swimsuit, a fittingly butch cropped swim tank and short trunks (both black), half the group had already arrived at the beach. She had tossed a towel and her usual leather jacket over one shoulder in case she needed either. Gideon noticed Harrow first because she looked completely uncomfortable in her black one-piece, which was to be expected because she was a boring prudish penitent nun who probably bathed fully clothed. She was also just about as bony as Gideon had expected, all angles and very little curves aside from her waist. Gideon did not interrogate _why_ she had ever pondered the shape of Harrow’s body enough to have expectations be proven correct; that line of thought went straight into her _fuck that_ box and was locked away permanently. Instead, she let her gaze wander over to the Tridenarius twins, who both wore yellow bikinis. Coronabeth looked like a model and Gideon wondered why they bothered to match when Ianthe would always be in her sister’s shadow. The superior twin’s cloud of golden hair had been piled up into a messy bun, and _fuck_ she was hot. Maybe, irrationally, this entire punishment had been worth it for a chance to gaze upon Corona in a swimsuit. Gideon tried not to stare. Camilla was surprisingly muscular under all of her grey button ups and cardigans and Gideon was looking respectfully. Dulcinea emerged from the treeline without her wheelchair or crutches, the former of which was folded and being carried by Protasilaus. Gideon had seen her walk on her own before, the surprise only came that she was planning on joining whatever ridiculous task had been set out for them. Clad in an impossibly frilly turquoise one-piece, she grinned and waved in Gideon’s direction, sending her into what was probably her second, maybe even third gay panic of the day. 

The camp’s lake was large and oblong, stretching out farther than Gideon thought a lake ought to, but she was always surprised by the size of bodies of water. Living landlocked in a city did that to a gal. It was surrounded by a thin strip of beach, met abruptly by grass and birch trees. The beach itself wasn’t the stereotypical soft, island paradise type sand: it was coarse and speckled with pebbles. It certainly wasn’t the type one could get away with sunbathing on without getting a handful of rocks embedded into their skin. Nonetheless, it was still a gorgeous view. Since the entire lake was owned by the camp there were no assholes on jet skis or motorboats to pollute the water or disturb the peace. The late morning sun glittered over the gently ebbing blue waters and a breeze rustled the papery birch leaves. Obstructing that view, though, were piles of garbage placed on tarps near the water. The piles appeared to be various pieces of wood, rope, several empty bottles and plastic barrels of diverging sizes, and a multitudinous menagerie of other randomly assorted objects. The only thing of obvious utility to Gideon were the pile of plastic oars, the type that came with canoes. 

“Just set the rest of that there, Gideon.” Augustine said, and Gideon whipped her head around to see that he wasn’t speaking to her. The other Gideon in question turned out to be a man carrying about ten wooden boards over one shoulder. He was a walking muscle with approximately zero percent body fat, uncomfortably buff in a way she had never witnessed in person before. He had brown skin stretched tightly over the bones of his face and closely shaven reddish russet hair. The man was an absolute gym rat, he could probably pick up and throw Mercy and Augustine both 100 feet into the lake without breaking a sweat. Gideon the younger might have been impressed with his overall stony demeanor and perfectly sculpted musculature if he weren’t wearing a neon _“GOD LOVES YOU”_ t-shirt to match the two counsilors on either side of him. He set the wood into a pile on one of the tarps and without another word hoofed it towards the path back to camp.  
  
“So that’s the other Gideon?” said the remaining Gideon after she’d come to stand beside Harrow. “No contest, I’m hotter.”  
  
“I am not going to dignify that with a reply.” Harrowhark sneered, arms folded across her chest.  
  
“You’re just too scared to admit I’m attractive.” Gideon replied smugly, smirking down at her rival who was now red-faced and clenching her fists, teeth bared. She delighted in making Harrow squirm.  
  
“You just love the sound of your own voice, don’t you, Griddle? I’m going to strangle you.” She growled.  
  
“Bold of you to assume I’m not into that.”  
  
“You’re a pig! You disgust me! In Hell you’ll meet a fate worse than death when you’re tortured for all eternity.” Harrow waved a bony finger at Gideon’s nose, her entire face worked into a frown.  
  
“It’s really hard to find this act intimidating when you seem like you’re ready to keel over at any moment.” Gideon pointed out, gesturing at the way Harrow’s shoulders were tensed and her arms had been crossed over her chest again. “You look so damn uncomfortable, Nonagesimus. Do you want my jacket?”  
  
“What?” Harrow’s face contorted into an expression of absolute confusion, taken fully out of her anger by the offer.  
  
“Here.” Gideon said, draping her jacket gently over Harrow’s shoulders, careful not to actually touch her in case doing so would kill her instantly. “Now your pious shoulders are protected from prying eyes. Just don’t like, swim in it.” It dwarfed Harrow’s meager frame, hanging well past her hips with lots of room to spare in the shoulders. 

Harrow drew it around herself, frown relaxing a fraction and her cheeks darkening. “Are you planning to swim in those stupid sunglasses?”  
  
“Yes, because they are waterproof, dingus.” Gideon said, tapping the silver frame with a grin. She only prayed she didn’t lose them at the bottom of the lake. 

“Alright infants!!” Called Mercymorn, standing in front of the garbage piles. “We’re about to blow your tiny minds.” Beside her, Augustine lit a cigarette. Gideon had no idea when they got back to the campground the night prior, but neither of them looked like they’d slept. Both had tired rings around their eyes, although on Mercy they only sharpened her saintly irritated visage. Augustine looked like an exhausted, ruffled new father who hadn’t signed up for triplets on the first go. It was no wonder that last night’s inebriated teenage shenanigans went undiscovered.  
  
“For our first activity.” Augustine interjected when Mercy did not elaborate, earning himself a glare. “Is to use the supplies we have here,” he gestured to the garbage tarps, “and in bunk buddy teams make rafts that will survive the journey between those two buoys. Whoever’s raft survives wins.” Between the two orange buoys that Gideon had thus far not noticed was a distance of about twenty feet. They were set up in the shallow part of the lake, probably so nobody drowned when their raft inevitably sank.  
  
“The purpose of this activity.” Mercymorn continued haughtily. “Is an exercise in your faith in God and your faith in each other. When Jesus walked across water it was a miracle, and while we obviously can’t do the same, traveling across twenty feet of a lake with a raft hastily built by idiots is something of a miracle. You’ll be in teams of two with your bunk buddy, aside from you, Dulcinea, us councilors aren’t getting in that water unless any of you starts to drown. Camilla, Jeanemary, she’s going to be in your group.” Camilla nodded, eyes flickering over the garbage piles as if mapping the perfect raft three-dimensionally in her head. Putting Dulcie in a group with Camilla Hect was likely her best ticket to not drowning. 

Augustine added “When Noah built the arc, he had to design it to keep his family and two of each animal safe from the flood. You’re going to have to design your raft to keep you safe, which is a little less pressure. Teamwork is an important part of this, like Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 says, two are better off than one. Or three, in one group’s case. You have thirty minutes, go.” He started a timer on his watch, waving the collective towards the piles of trash.  
  
The entire spiel left Gideon dumbfounded and dreading, but Harrow immediately strode towards the garbage piles. Not far behind her were Camilla, Ianthe and Corona, and Palamedes. This was going to be a bloodbath. Ianthe handed bottles, planks, and rope to her sister who carried them off to the side. Camilla was piling supplies high on her shoulder and strategizing with Palamedes, which shouldn’t have even been allowed because they weren’t on the same team. Helplessly, Gideon trailed after Harrow until she came to stand a half step behind her.  
  
“What’s the plan, gloom mistress?”  
  
Harrow was knelt down, gathering miscellaneous objects into her stick-like arms before shoving them into Gideon’s. “We make a raft that doesn’t sink.” She said, voice honeyed with vexation.  
  
“Gotcha. What the hell do you want me to do with this crap?” Empty bottles and rope had been piled up to her neck and were teetering dangerously.  
  
“Put it down over there. Grab a few of those barrels before Sextus and Hect take them all.” Harrow replied irritably, pointing first to an empty spot on the beach and second to the pile of large plastic jugs which had been half pilfered already. Reinvigorated with an actual purpose, Gideon did as she was told as hastilly as she could, and before long was back at Harrowhark’s side, like a shadow hanging over her.  
  
“Don’t just stand there like an idiot, Nav. I need wood.” Harrow snapped.  
  
“That’s what she said.” replied Gideon cleverly, before piling as many sticks and boards as she could manage (which was a lot, by the way) over one shoulder. She deposited this unceremoniously into their growing pile in the sand. For a moment she stood, hands on her hips, admiring their collection of garbage, until she noticed something missing. Whipping her head around, her eyes fell on Ianthe, who had swiped a length of rope and one of the plastic jugs from their pile.  
  
“You bitch! Give that back!” Gideon was on her in a second, swiping the rope right from her fragile skim-milk colored hands.  
  
“Language!” Called Mercymorn from somewhere behind them.  
  
“Hey, she stole our shit! Isn’t that less Jesus approved than swearing?” Gideon called back, glancing over her shoulder.  
  
“Well if you’d been watching your shit, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to take any of it. If you think about it that way, really, this is your fault.” Ianthe said, grinning smugly.  
  
“Classic victim blaming! Come on, Mercy!” Gideon threw up her arms, exasperated.  
  
“I’m not getting involved. Build your damn rafts already.” said Mercy, because she was the worst.  
  
Gideon stalked back to her and Harrow’s trash pile, not before flipping the bird at Ianthe and yelling “Don’t touch my garbage!” to no one in particular. Now vigilant under the threat of looting, Gideon guarded their findings like a dog until Harrow finally returned with an arm full of water bottles and zip ties.  
  
Palamedes, paired up with Isaac, had already begun construction on their raft and looked to be halfway done. Camilla wasn’t far behind, although that was credit to her other two team members as well. Jeannemary was expertly tying knots and Dulcinea weaving together branches to make a platform while Camilla attended to the barrels they’d taken. It looked like Ianthe was doing most of the work while Coronabeth very slowly knotted boards together. Naberius and Protasilaus both appeared to be completely out of their depth, and the former like he was liable to puke at any moment. There was no pity in Gideon’s heart for that pretentious, hair-gelled, beer-drinking shithead, she just thanked her lucky stars that her hangover had all but disappeared after breakfast. 

In concept, the task was simple: put some empty containers on the bottom of a platform and paddle your way to victory. Unfortunately, in execution it was never quite so easy. Before them lay an assortment of boards, sticks, rope, water bottles, and three jugs. They’d had four before the knockoff creepy twin had stolen one, so they were going to have to refine their plan. Then again, it wasn’t exactly _their_ plan, Gideon had no idea what was going on.  
  
“I cannot believe you allowed Ianthe to swipe our supplies.” Harrow said critically.  
  
“I didn’t allow anything! She’s a sneaky, slippery little weasel!” Gideon called her _little_ despite the truly unbelievable fact that Ianthe Tridentarius was definitively much taller than her. “Whatever, just tell me what to do, my liege.”  
  


“It isn’t complicated. We need to make a platform and attach it to the empty containers.” Harrow said it in tones reserved for very stupid children.  
  
“Yeah, okay then, princess. How do we _do_ that?”  
  
Harrow breathed an enormous sigh, readjusting the jacket over her shoulders. “Take some of those boards and tie them together.”  
  
Gideon did as she was told, and kept following her dearly detested’s directions as they were given. She had never been quite the outdoorsy type so her knots predictably looked like an elaborate tangle, but she had faith in their adequacy. Sometime during the process Mercymorn called out a fifteen minute warning, and before much longer Gideon had constructed a platform large enough to fit the both of them out of a mishmashed assortment of boards and sticks. It didn’t explode into splinters when she stood on it and therefore her confidence grew. Once she was finished with that, Harrow turned the platform over and arranged the empty barrels on top of it, wrapping lengths of rope around them like a particularly aggressive boa constrictor until they were fully enveloped. To account for the missing fourth jug, water bottles were tied together and added wherever space needed filling.  
  
“This might actually work.” Said Gideon in awe.  
  
“Your faithlessness offends me, Griddle. Of course it will work.” Harrow replied flatly, charcoal-black eyes trained on Gideon in disapproval. Her eyes flickered downward minutely, leaving Gideon only a moment to think _“holy shit, was she just checking me out?”_ before she spoke again. “In any case, it better work because I’m not a particularly skillful swimmer.”  
  
“Oh, so this is a life or death sitch for you? Never fear, my evil queen, I’ve saved you once and I’ll do it again.” Gideon proclaimed, flexing for emphasis.  
  
“You did not save me! I would have been fine.” Harrow was red-faced and indignant again, one would have expected steam to start pouring out of her ears.  
  
“Nope, saved your life. That gives me the moral high ground, you know.” Gideon pointed to her bruised face, donning her best shit-eating grin.  
  
“Just shut up. The raft is done and the time is nearly up.”  
  
“No, we’re not finished yet!” Gideon protested. “We need to name her.”  
  
“ _Her?_ It’s a raft, Griddle.”  
  
“No, this is a luxury yacht. We built it, we ought to commemorate this occasion. Too bad we don’t have a bottle to break over the side.” Gideon searched their garbage pile but there was nary a glass object in sight, probably for good reason. “Alright let’s christen this sucker. How about the _Darque Destroyer_ ? The _Tenebrous Tyrant_ , the _Midnight Murderer._ Something to really strike fear into the competition.”  
  
“You’re being ridiculous. Those names are terrible.” Harrow kicked at the raft, obviously sick of her shit.  
  
“Says the girl saddled with _Harrowhark_ . What, were your parents freaky devil worshipers?”  
  
“They were nothing of the sort, it’s a family name.”  
  
“Weird ass family. Whatever, I’m calling it the _Darque Destroyer_ and there’s nothing you can do about it.”  
  
Before Harrow could challenge that statement, Mercymorn had clapped her hands together to get the attention of the group. “Okay kiddies, we’re going to do this one by one so line up near the first buoy and wait your turn.” She impatiently pointed to where the water met the beach and in tandem rafts were being hefted towards the starting line. Because Harrow had the arms of an emaciated Victorian child, Gideon had to half-drag their raft all the way. They were the last group to arrive, which just meant they got to kick back and watch everyone else fuck up. If only she’d brought popcorn.  
  
The first group up were Naberius and Protasilaus. Their raft looked like a conflict of ideas, as if Naberius had tried to put it together with brute force whilst Protasilaus became too infatuated with the beauty of a detailed knot. Therefore it had been half tied by him and half tied by Babs and there was a remarkable difference in the caliber of their handiwork. The fact that it floated when they pushed it into the water was a miracle. When they mounted it, the entirety of it sagged under the weight of Pro’s over-muscled body. Naberius weighed at least fifty pounds less and the blow to his ego was palpable.  
  
“Time to see if any of your terrible rafts survive!” Called Mercy, which was evidently their cue to go. Predictably, their raft was already sinking under their collective weight, but those two were on the warpath. They rowed furiously, water splashing violently in their wake as bits of their raft came apart and were left behind. By the time they crossed the finish line, they had about half the vessel they started with and were both soaked up to their middles.  
  
After consideration, Augustine concluded, “Well, you made it but you got soaked. I’m gonna call that a loss.” Naberius groaned and tossed his paddle into the water, leaving Protasilaus to pull their massacred raft to shore. 

Next went Palamedes and Isaac, who in a feat of expert engineering made it to the second buoy without so much as a splash. Unsurprisingly, Camilla, Jeannemary, and Dulcinea’s raft was well fortified as well. They made it across a little slower due to Dulcinea sitting on the back and not paddling. She had offered but been turned down by an always rational Camilla. Next went Ianthe and Corona, who’s raft didn’t stay afloat as well. They only had two empty bottles to float upon and that wasn’t enough, so by the time they made it across to the other side they were both halfway in the water and therefore were declared to have lost. Both twins looked aggrieved and began an argument waged solely through glares. 

Finally that left Gideon and Harrow, who extricated herself from Gideon’s jacket carefully before flinging it into the sand, which was ungrateful and _rude,_ but whatever _._ Together, they eased the raft into the water and it floated, leaving them with the perplexingly difficult task of getting on the damn thing without sinking or flipping it belly-up. Hearing the group chatter on the beach and knowing they were watching to delight in their possible failure was suddenly nerve wracking. The raft wobbled dangerously as Gideon pulled herself up onto it, getting a face-full of murky water. They were only about four feet deep but four feet was up to Harrow’s shoulders, and the top of the raft came to about her nose.  
  
“Let me pull you up.” Gideon extended a hand out to her waterlogged bunk buddy, bracing herself on the wooden surface. Harrow frowned, but took it, and lifting her up onto the raft was effortless. The craft swayed to one side, sloshing them with water, but the first bit was over and done with. How did everyone finish so quickly? “Alright, this is the _Darque Destroyer’s_ debut, Harrow, so we have to make this good.”  
  
“Just paddle.” Harrow spat back, dipping her oar into the water and propelling them forward.  
  
It was only a twenty foot expedition, but it only took five for the cracks to start to show. With their lack of a fourth jug to keep them afloat, their raft was unsteady and before long they had started to sink. Gideon felt the water first on the bottom of her thighs and her feet, splashing up to hit her right in the ass. It was a sensation akin to a toilet water splashback and it sent an uncomfortable shiver down Gideon’s spine, compelling her to row harder. Harrow followed suit, and they left empty water bottles behind in their wake. Gideon’s knotwork revealed itself to be inadequate as the rope began to pull loose and pieces of the _Darque Destroyer_ flung into the water like sailors abandoning a sinking ship. Indeed, they were sinking and the faster they rowed the more hopeless their prospect of winning became.  
  
“Shit, Harrow, go faster!” Gideon cried. There was laughter from somewhere near, high pitched and posh. Bold of Ianthe to laugh at them when her raft had been a colossal fuckup. Not that Gideon’s _wasn’t_ a colossal fuckup, no, she had accepted the _Darque Destroyer’s_ flaws and some of those just happened to be an inability to function as intended. This awful construction of wood and rope was basically her first child, she couldn’t let it down by giving up on it halfway.  
  
“Griddle, we’re sinking. You did the knots improperly.” Harrow spat.  
  
“Then row _faster!_ ”  
  
“We are just going to _sink_ faster, you imbecile! I really cannot swim.” There was a desperation in her voice as they began to take on water up to their waists. They had only just passed the halfway mark and Gideon couldn’t believe they were going to lose this worse than Babs _._ Two of the jugs escaped from their rope prison down below and were floating away to freedom, leaving them with an abrupt loss of stability that sent them scrambling to keep their balance. As a final betrayal, the entire raft flipped over and sent them both overboard. It was pure luck that saved Gideon’s sunglasses from tumbling into the deep and making some fish look very cool. The laughter from land grew and Gideon knew she would never live this down, even when she was far away from this place. Coronabeth would remember how shitty Gideon’s raft had been, how she’d failed worse than fucking _Babs._  
  
“I can’t swim, I can’t- Gideon!” Harrow cried, flailing helplessly as the waves they’d created hit her square in the face, bobbing beneath the surface and gasping for breath. Her dark makeup began to stream down her face and she was choking on mouthfuls of water. For a moment, Gideon panicked, paddling hastily to reach her enemy and rescue her from a premature watery grave. She grabbed Harrow by the shoulders right before she slipped beneath the surface, hoisting her into her arms. Harrowhark leaned her head on Gideon’s shoulder and coughed, spitting warm mouthfuls of water down Gideon’s front, which was disgusting. Unsure of what else to do, Gideon patted Harrow hard on the back to ease her spluttering cough, earning her another few extra spit takes right to the clavicle.  
  
“You’re so dramatic.” Gideon said when she’d found her footing, voice shaking of its own accord. “It’s not even that deep. But damn, I saved your ass again, Nonagesimus. You owe me big time, princess.”  
  
“Shut up. Just get us to land.” Harrow was clinging to Gideon like a half-drowned cat-- probably because she was one-- nails digging into Gideon’s shoulder. It was an easy walk to the beach, although their raft had been abandoned and she knew she’d be sent out momentarily to retrieve it’s dismembered corpse. Rest in peace, _Darque Destroyer_ , you were too good for this world. They’d only been about five feet deep, but Harrow clung tight to her even as they reached land. Near-drowning experiences at bible camp must do that to a person.  
  
“Well, you lost spectacularly.” Said Mercy. “Good going.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took forever to get out, I guess I just have a really hard time making my brain write fluff. It's a longer one than the last few though! Hopefully the next few chapters come a bit quicker though because I'm very excited for them. Anyways, thanks to everyone as always for reading and feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	15. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrow needs Gideon's help, but Ianthe gets in the way.

The rest of the dedicated team building day went about as well for Gideon and Harrow as raft building did, which is to say not very well at all. They were let loose for about an hour to swim and collect the debris they’d left behind when some of the rafts had self-destructed. Harrow did not help with this, leaving Gideon to swim fruitlessly after water bottles which only floated further away in her wake while Harrow sat on the sand under Gideon’s jacket (getting it wet, just like Gideon had told her _not_ to do but _whatever!_ ) and moped.  
  
Their next activity before lunch was the human knot, in which everyone stood in a circle and took somebody else’s hand, having to very carefully maneuver until eventually the group became untangled. Gideon ended up forced to hold hands with Palamedes and Ianthe, both of which had uncomfortably cold and clammy hands which was revolting (no offense to Sextus but every offence to Ianthe). It was actually going quite well, with instructions being barked by Palamedes after he very cleverly took charge, instructing campers to climb over and under each other, up until the point at which Ianthe decided to actively participate. And “ _actively participate”_ here means: letting go of Gideon’s hand at the same time as sticking one skinny ankle out to trip her. She ended up taking Palamades and Isaac down with her; all three of them got a face full of sand and had to sit on the sidelines having rocks picked out of their arms, legs, shoulders, and faces by Camilla, who had a first aid kit ready before any of the counselors had to do a thing. Harrow, who had been looking for an excuse to get out of any activity requiring physical exertion, lingered behind Camilla until she was impatiently handed a pair of tweezers and instructed to help dig some of the grit out of Gideon’s palms. Harrow, who Gideon half expected to stab her in the trachea with the sharp end of the tweezers as soon as she got within range, was surprisingly careful as she extracted rocks from her skin. Before she could become too complacent with being cared for in a way that could almost be constituted as tender, Harrow pressed a pink bandaid onto Gideon’s cheek like a slap. She expected soon to be freckled with little scabs and develop a newfound respectful fear of sand.  
  
After lunch they were thrown straight into a rope maze, which was essentially a tangle of knots suspended between trees on the path. The object of that specific activity was for one bunk buddy to lead the other, who would be blindfolded, through the maze. It went just about as well as one might expect. Harrowhark’s instructions were frustratingly brief and left Gideon to blindly stumble through the maze until she ended up so entangled that Mercymorn had to cut her out of it. When Gideon gave Harrow instructions, she only listened to them until about halfway through, at which point she became frustrated and ended up falling right on her ass. The only people who made it out of the rope maze without touching any of the ropes were Isaac because he was being directed by Palamedes and Camilla when being directed by Dulcinea. Everyone else ranged between touching at least one rope and destroying the entire maze in their path (Protesilaus, accidentally). By the time the ordeal was finally over and they were being herded to dinner like a bunch of exhausted ducks, nearly everyone had at least one minor bruise or injury. It was a wonder the camp hadn’t been sued into oblivion, although perhaps this treatment was reserved solely for teenagers. In any case, Aiglamene might be glad to see how roughed up Gideon was when she finally escaped this hellhole. Heavenhole? Whatever, fuck bible camp.  
  
When the thoroughly tried camping groups were split back into their individual cabins, all probably expecting to be done with activities for the day and move on back to the status quo, Mercymorn explained tersely that they had one activity left: friendship bracelet crafting. Apparently this was not a joke, evident when stone-faced Mercy unceremoniously placed a box of multi-colored pony beads, stretchy jewelry string, and a few pairs of scissors onto the wooden cabin floor. Everyone was tasked to make a bracelet for their bunk buddy in an activity ripped straight from a children’s activity pamphlet. In lieu of other ways to pass the time, Gideon complied with the request and grabbed a handful of miscellaneous beads and a length of string.  
  
“Let me measure this on your wrist.” Gideon said, string dangling from her open hand.  
  
Harrow, who had made herself comfortable sitting on her bunk with her back towards Gideon, turned her head and sourly said “No.” 

“It’s not going to fit otherwise.” Gideon replied. “I can’t measure it on myself because my wrist is way bigger than yours, you bony weirdo.”  
  
“Calling me a bony weirdo is hardly going to convince me to comply with your request.” replied Harrow, and it was very stupid that she was right.  
  
“Whatever. You won’t wear it anyway.” Gideon huffed, leaning against the bunk ladder as she constructed her second masterpiece of the day. Hopefully this one wouldn’t break apart like the _Darque Destroyer_ (2020-2020, R.I.P) but Gideon knew in her soul that Harrow was probably going to throw it straight into a blender as soon as she had access to a blender.  
  
After about fifteen minutes of fiddling to find the correct beads and stringing them all together, feeling very much like a small child, Gideon tied the bracelet off and gave it a final once over. White block letter beads spelled out _“TWILIT PRINCESS”,_ with a rainbow of random colored beads to make up the rest of it. She could have put them in color order, but the rustic look just felt a bit more artsy. 

Satisfied with her handiwork, Gideon rose from the floor and tapped Harrow on the shoulder. Harrow flinched, turning to look at her with a scowl. “Here.” she held the bracelet out to her. Harrow took it, still frowning. When she put it on, it dangled very loosely from her wrist.  
  
“It doesn’t fit.” She said plainly.  
  
“That is entirely your fault, Harrow. You should be grateful, I’m an artisan now. I’m going to start selling these babies for fifty bucks at the farmer’s market.”  
  
“No one would buy your garbage.” Harrow spat.  
  
“Hurtful — ” Gideon was in the middle of constructing a masterful tirade when Harrow threw something at her, which she caught. “Oh.” It was another stupid, shitty bead bracelet, which said _“GRIDDLE”_ in block letters, surrounded by black and white beads. It was only a little bit tight on her wrist. Harrow remained stiffly trained on the wall, not looking at Gideon, who felt absolutely overwhelmed in the weirdest way. She felt her cheeks go hot when she looked at the thing, so she didn’t look at it, but she didn’t take it off either. She didn’t know what to say, so she just didn’t say anything. 

**

When Gideon awoke the next morning, later than the rest of the campers for once and still groggy, she began to stretch but stopped when she felt something tucked into her right hand. It was a note in Harrow’s cramped and impatient handwriting, written on a torn scrap of paper.  
  
 **_Wait at the benches outside the cabin after lunch. We have work to do_ **  
  
They had been promised a lot more free time in order to give the campers and counselors a break to recover from the fiasco of the day prior. Breakfast and lunch went on without incident and although there was time in between them, Gideon didn’t see much of Harrow. Obviously she was already fully occupied with whatever work they had to do. At least that came with the promise of more wacky hijinks of dubious legality. Maybe Gideon would even get the chance to upgrade from breaking and entering to full-on destruction of property; the day was young yet.  
  
After lunch, Gideon did as she was told and sat her ass down on one of the uncomfortable wooden benches between the two cabins. Most of the other campers had gone elsewhere: Palamedes, Camilla, Dulcie, and Pro off towards the barn area and everyone else in the direction of the lake. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on her with the fury of God. She regretted her innate need to dress all in black, sweat was sticking her shirt (which read _“I am useless and gay”_ ) to her back and there was no sign of reprieve. Harrowhark was an asshole for expecting her to wait this long but she waited nonetheless, staring off at a fixed point in space and decapitating every intrusive thought which threatened to wander through her unoccupied brain.  
  
“Why look who it is! What was your name again?” came a voice which made Gideon’s skin crawl. It was coming from Ianthe, who had wet hair fresh from the shower and had changed from her swimsuit to a yellow romper.  
  
“You know my name.” Gideon said, voice laced with displeasure. “What do you want, did you get bored of drowning kittens?” 

“You’re so crude, I’m hurt.” Ianthe responded, moving to sit on the bench across from Gideon. She was grinning that thin-lipped, devious little grin. The universe was a cruel mistress for always saddling Gideon with encountering the evil, blanched, gangly twin.  
  
“It was fun to see your raft sink yesterday. Thanks for fucking ours up in tandem.”  
  
“Oh, aren’t you a crack-up. Reign it in, Nav, you aren’t as intimidating as you think you are.” She paused, tucking a wet strang of staw-colored hair behind her ear. There was laughter in her eyes. “What are you doing here, anyway? Waiting for her?” 

“I’m just sitting, why would I be waiting for Harrow?” Gideon lied, hand stuffed into her jean pocket, coming to rest on the crumbled note she’d interred there.  
  
“You poor miserable thing,” Ianthe drawled mockingly, “aren’t you always waiting on her? Following her like a lost little doggy?” 

“Why do you want to know? Looking to harass her some more with your freaky sadistic knock-off twin bullshit?” Gideon shot back, thoroughly peeved. Harrow needed to hurry the hell up and rescue Gideon from this awful confrontation.  
  
“Well haven’t you got me pegged? Alas, I am the worst woman in history, manifested here for the sole purpose of throwing your good mood into a woodchipper.” Ianthe sounded bored and her smile only widened with her self-depreciation. “And what does that make you? Some forlorn enamored moron chasing after a girl who has literally never liked you? You reek of desperation, I can smell it from here.” She turned up her nose, waving her hand in front of her face.  
  
“I am not chasing after her, nor am I _forlorn_ , you butter-colored raft-sabotaging bitch.” Gideon spat back. She could feel her heart race accelerating, all those carefully reigned in thoughts beginning to break free and dance wildly in her head.  
  
“Tell that to the drunk idiot who called Harrow _honey_. It’s plain as day, Gideon.”

“You _do_ know my name!” She interrupted, which Ianthe ignored.  
  
“I take no pleasure in telling you that with absolute certainty she doesn’t like you back. You’re a cockroach under her shoe. She’s only using you because she doesn’t have any other options. You don’t even know the full story, do you?” Ianthe folded her hands under her chin smuggly, demonstrating the posture of an absolute bitch—and an absolute bitch who knew she was winning.  
  
“I _don’t_ like Harrow! I hate her, I’m only going along with her because I have nothing else to do.” The words felt foreign on her tongue, spoken on a reflex but in conflict with the cocktail of emotions stewing in her gut.  
  
“You can keep saying that, but you’re a terrible liar.”  
  
“Yeah, so are you because you _absolutely_ took pleasure in that chicanery you just spewed.”  
  
“So we’re at an impasse then? We’re both liars, but at least I’m not pining over my childhood rival like a walking cliché. You shouldn’t discount what I’m saying purely on the basis of finding me unpleasant.”  
  
Gideon took a slow breath, fists clenched in her lap. She had been expecting this, although she hated that she’d been right; as soon as they had met eyes over the campfire Gideon knew that Ianthe was going to use this against her. So here she was, hammer in hand, shattering whatever feeble thing had been building up over the last few days.  
  
“I can, actually, and it’s going to take more than vague nonsense and insults to make me believe a word you say.” With this, Ianthe seemed to readjust herself, something shifting in her mind.  
  
“Alright, let’s get explicit then.” She was still smiling but her eyes held an empathy like the cold, frozen wasteland of space.  
  
“That’s what she said.” Gideon replied smartly, Ianthe rolled her eyes.  
  
“How much about this has she really told you? Do you even know _why_ she’s been investigating the camp? Has she told her about her parents, how they were involved with the Canaan House charity before they died?” Ianthe’s grin widened at some expression Gideon didn’t know she was making, she spluttered for a response. “Of course she hasn’t because she doesn’t trust you. She’s been using you, I’m only saying this because I care.” Ianthe said, sickenly saccharine, reaching her hand across the table in a mock-imitation of sympathy. She was knocking at something in Gideon’s soul, something tenuous and new, threatening to expunge it permanently.  
  
“You don’t care. Not about me, not about her. You’re the one who’s desperate, Ianthe, chasing me down for the express purpose of pissing me off.” Gideon growled.  
  
“Oh? It’s working then, that’s just grand! But don’t be so conceited, I just happened to walk by at the right time. I know what you’re doing Nav, and you aren’t subtle. Do you think helping her—jumping in front of a stupid dodgeball for her—do you think any of that is going to make her like you?”  
  
“I’m not _trying_ to make her like me. She couldn’t like me, and she couldn’t like _you_ either. Harrow doesn’t have a heart.” Gideon wielded those words like a weapon but it was double edged, stabbing her right in the chest.  
  
“We’ll see. Between the two of us, I know more than you do. I’m pretty sure _everyone_ knows more than you do. She doesn’t like you, she doesn’t trust you.”  
  
The more she said it, the more it wounded Gideon. It stuck somewhere deep, prodding at old scars, mirroring the thoughts in her head which were telling her the exact same thing. Harrow didn’t like her. Harrow didn’t trust her. She was an idiot for following her around when she was given information like bargaining chips and never enlightened to the full picture. What the fuck was she doing, anyway? What was this if not the same as it always had been: Gideon following Harrow in the playground, Gideon holding Harrow down and spitting on her, Gideon ruining Harrow’s chem project via glitter-bomb, Gideon lifting Harrow into the window of Teacher’s office so she could find the answer to a question Gideon hadn’t been told. It was endless and cyclical: trying to dig deep for something that wasn’t there anymore, getting angry and lashing out, repeat. No matter how many times she thought she was over this, Gideon revolved around Harrow, was pulled in by her gravity only to be punched back into orbit. She felt like a fool for doing it again, falling hook line and sinker for false amiability just so that Harrow could get whatever she wanted out of her.  
  
“Fuck off. I don’t have to listen to this shit.” Gideon said, pushing up from the table. Ianthe looked satisfied and that only made her more pissed off, but she was dangerously close to throwing a punch if she remained.  
  
“I do love our chats, speak again soon.” Ianthe called, admiring her fingernails for imperfections as Gideon turned her back.  
  
Gideon walked back into the empty cabin and slammed the creaking door, feeling the heat of anger and shame color her cheeks. She took the note out of her pocket and crumpled it, chucking it into the corner of the dimly lit, dusty cabin. At least there was no one around to witness her tantrum.

  
  
** 

Harrow arrived at the bench later than she’d intended, having been caught by Gideon, who must have worked as a custodian for the camp because she’d only seen him cleaning up messes. She had been forced to invent an excuse as to why she had been loitering nearby Teacher’s cabin and was now on high alert; their suspicions of her had to be rising, she could only hope that they would remain ignorant a little while longer. When she turned the path and emerged from the treeline, her stomach dropped and her shoulders bowed, prematurely exhausted from a conversation that had yet to transpire.  
  
“Where is Griddle?” Harrow asked plainly, approaching Ianthe with all the excitement of a woman about to be hung on false allegations of witchcraft.  
  
“Hello to you too, Harry.” Ianthe smiled. The frilly romper she wore only served to yellow her skin, making her look jaundiced and sickly. Harrow bristled at the unwanted moniker. “She has a headache and went to lie down in the cabin, she told me to take over for her.”  
  
“I don’t believe that for a second.” Harrow replied.  
  
“Okay, she didn’t say that.” Ianthe admitted, arms folded in her lap. “But she isn’t here and you obviously are mid-scheme already. I can’t imagine what service you’d require of her that I couldn’t fulfill.”  
  
Harrow rolled her eyes, but there was a time limit on this operation. The custodial Gideon would return to make his rounds before long and with his second interruption the entire operation would be shot. It was delicate work and didn’t play friendly with delays. Harrow could rationalize this. No wonder she had a headache, Harrow never saw Gideon drink any water. Energy drinks did not count. “Fine, you will do. This needs to be done quickly.”  
  
“Marvelous.” Ianthe rose from her seat, tossing her damp hair over one shoulder. “I won’t even be offended at being your second choice, I’m used to it.”  
  
“Just hurry up and come along, I have been meaning to speak with you anyway.” Harrowhark said impatiently, already heading back in the direction she’d arrived from. She did not look back to see if Ianthe was following, the twin was like a leech latched so deep that it required medical intervention. It would take much more than an icy indifference to discourage her.  
  
Harrowhark led Ianthe down a path through the trees and past the cabins, taking the safer and more convoluted route to avoid detection. Perhaps she was paranoid, but that paranoia was warranted: the Gideon who worked at the camp looked as if he could murder her without a second thought or a tug at his conscience. They were trudging behind the other cabins and towards the small living-space that belonged to Teacher, which was exactly where Harrow had been a few minutes ago, found peeking into the back window by a man carrying a massive shovel. No, she could not be blamed for being a little bit afraid of that awful walking tendon of a man, who didn’t belong at this holy place or anywhere for the matter.  
  
“So, what did you need to talk to me about, Harry? Ready to proclaim your undying love?” Ianthe said sweetly, baring her teeth in a grin. She was revolting.  
  
“I’d rather be killed very slowly.” Harrow said tersely, taking a sharp left on the dirt path through the oak forest speckled with birch.  
  
“I can’t be that bad. I’m better than your first choice, in any case. What do you see in that bumbling idiot?” Ianthe said, tone perfectly innocent. Harrow’s blood boiled.  
  
“I do not recall soliciting your opinion.” Harrow replied, but Ianthe was obstinate. 

“Sure, but nothing is going to stop me from providing it. I have no idea why you’d seek her assistance out when she’s been nothing but a pain in the ass since she spawned.”  
  
“My reasons have absolutely nothing to do with you and therefore are none of your concern.”  
  
“Then what is? You said you’d been meaning to have a chat.” Ianthe always spoke like it was her divine right to demean and harangue every misfortunate soul she stumbled upon and it was quickly making Harrow regret bringing her along.  
  
“This isn’t a chat, we aren’t friends. I just need to follow up with you about the promised distraction at the dance, it’s been long enough for you to secure it.” Harrowhark impatiently turned another corner, and they were on a paved pathway leading up behind the barn. The small cabin was coming up on their left.  
  
“Oh, that. Augustine is setting it up.” Ianthe remarked casually.  
  
“The camp counselor? Ianthe, he is involved! He cannot be trusted.” Harrow said severely, turning her dark gaze on the other girl. She should have known Ianthe was playing the long game at exposing her. She was being thrown to the wolves with a smile.  
  
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Nonagesimus. I’m not an idiot, I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t need to know.” She said cavalierly, obviously misunderstanding the gravity of the situation. Harrow had not been lying when she had said this was a dangerous situation.  
  
“You had better hope so. What is he planning?”  
  
“I have no idea, he won’t tell me. If all else fails, Harry, I could always get Babs to punch somebody out. That would cause some excitement, it just wouldn’t quite buy as much time. You’ll just have to be patient.” Ianthe waved a hand in Harrow’s direction and it took all she had not to smack it away.  
  
The rest of the walk was in silence, but it wasn’t another minute longer before they came upon the cabin. It was about the size of the cabins their groups had been stuffed into, although this one had an attached bathroom unit. Harrow had stumbled upon the structure during her first few days at Camp Mithraeum, in which she had occupied herself with reconnaissance and ruled it out as a spare. She had only by chance stumbled upon it when occupied, spying Teacher through the window using his laptop at the desk. It was a small, one room studio with a bed, a desk, television, and kitchenette. Teacher didn’t seem to keep his laptop in his office when he was away, keeping it behind the rickety padlocked door of his cabin. Harrow’s mission was, of course, to destroy the padlock and force him to relocate his precious cargo in the office where it could be rifled through the night of the dance. Theoretically, they could search both the cabin and the office but that would require either splitting up or searching both and either option had risks that Harrow was not willing to bargain with. Time was a commodity they would have precious little of.  
  
“Alright, I need you to keep watch.” Harrow instructed, turning her back to Ianthe as she reached into her pockets for the tools she had swiped from one of the other office buildings which seemed to function as a tool shed after being emptied years ago.  
  
“Oh, is that all? Why did you need company then? Harrow, you can tell me if you’re lonely.” Ianthe said, mock-pity.  
  
“Shut up.” Harrow said. She did not say that the reason she needed Gideon was that she was terrified and she felt safer beside her, and that she’d been counting on Gideon’s strength to break the padlock open. The latter bit was something she would certainly never tell Gideon as it was something she would never shut up about.  
  
The door to the cabin was similar to the door on the barn or on a shed: it was composed of two sliding sides, meeting in the middle with two handles and a latch. The padlock was simply an extra bit of security since the doors themselves hadn’t been fabricated with that purpose. From her pocket Harrow removed two small flare nut wrenches. She fit one side of each wrench opening inside the shackle of the lock, gripping them together with both hands to create enough leverage and snap the locking bar or the shackle itself. Gideon could have breached it in a manner of seconds, but Harrow was struggling and her hand ached with the strain of the uncompromising metal which bit against her palms. She swore, letting go and shaking out her hands before placing them back on the wrenches. She wasn’t going to give up.  
  
“Let me help.” Ianthe offered, and before Harrow could protest she placed her hands on hers and the two of them pushed the wrenches inwards. With their combined strength and about thirty seconds of fiddling, the padlocked snapped and fell into the dirt. Ianthe’s hands lingered on Harrows and she pulled them disgustedly away, looking at them as if her touch could have burned straight through her skin.  
  
“Alright, let’s go.” Harrow grumbled, putting the wrenches and padlock into her pockets with plans to toss them in the lake.  
  
Ianthe stretched her palms upward slowly, then checked her fingernails for damage. “That was easy, I guess it’s good Gideon stormed off. You don’t need her.”  
  
Harrow whipped around to look at her. “You said she had a headache.”  
  
“God, Harrowhark, you make it so easy to lie to you. Of course she didn’t have a headache! Your naivety will be your downfall someday.” Ianthe said and she was smiling.   
  
Harrow felt like a cloud had passed over the whole of her, blocking out the light and filling her with a horrible, chilling dread. “You better not have—” but she didn’t finish, she didn’t want to.  
  
“What? Fucked with her? All I did was point out to her what you’ve been doing, which is not telling her the truth, dragging her along to do your dirty work. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel bad for her: she didn’t deserve to know. Just know that this was your doing. It’s your fault Harrow, you were the one who was secretive, I was just playing with the cards you dealt her.”  
  
Harrow didn’t say anything as panic overrode her senses, corroding her logical function and leaving her a spluttering mess. It was true, she had absolutely, irrevocably fucked up. Gideon had deserved to know and Harrow hadn’t even been able to give her that. She felt absolutely, profoundly guilty.  
  
Taking off in the opposite direction, she abandoned all of her previous caution. Someone might see her, but she would deal with those consequences as they arose. Overflowing with fury and saturated with fear, Harrowhark practically ran back to the cabins, leaving Ianthe to yell after her in exasperation and laugh.  
  
When she arrived at the clearing, all of her haste evaporated. She approached the cabin door slowly, thankful that the rest of the campers seemed to be sequestered elsewhere. Her heart beat erratically as she pushed the door open and stepped inside with a creak. The inside of the cabin was dimly lit by afternoon light which illuminated the dust motes floating down from the ceiling like golden snow. Gideon was sitting on her top bunk, legs folded crisscross, sunglasses pushed up into her brilliantly red hair. When she turned her head to face Harrow, her eyes caught the light and they were liquid gold; they were the sun and harbored the same exact heat and intensity, trained directly on Harrow. She was frowning and Harrow’s terror tripled.  
  
“Gideon—” She began.  
  
“I don’t want to talk to you.” Gideon said, voice rough.  
  
“Griddle, you don’t understand—”  
  
“No, I don’t. Because you haven’t told me! Harrow you’ve given me absolutely fuck-all and I’ve been following you around like an idiot! How am I supposed to trust you when god damned Ianthe knows more about all of this than me?” She sounded like she had passed the point of anger and lapsed into exhausted resignation.  
  
The look on her face was one that Harrow recognized and it twisted her stomach into knots and set her chest ablaze. Harrow had admired that expression in between plumes of smoke as she burned Nav’s English paper to ash while she cried out, waiting with a bubbling anticipation and anger until she had finally asked why. _Because I completely fucking hate you, no offense._ It was the expression Gideon had donned in turn every time she had said it back. Harrow didn’t know how to explain it to her, in that moment, that none of that had ever been true. Because how the _fuck_ was she supposed to explain that?  
  
“I meant to, I—” She swallowed heavily, trying to banish the constriction in her throat and the ache in her chest. “I just needed to find the right time.”  
  
“I don’t want to hear it! Leave me the fuck alone, Harrow. You’ve done enough.” The anger had trickled from Gideon’s voice then and she almost seemed close to laughter. Harrow was afraid if she spoke that her voice would break, or that worse: whatever had settled between them would shatter like glass, into a thousand pieces that could never be glued back together.  
  
So she left Gideon alone, and it was only as she crossed the threshold of the cabin that she realized it had been shattered irredeemably already, and it was her fault.  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long one so I hope everybody liked it! The next chapter will probably also be super long, so get excited about that. Thanks as always for reading and feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	16. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrow promises to tell Gideon everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: suicide mention, it's canon compliant but I figured I'd give a heads up.

Not long after Harrow had left the cabin, Gideon departed too. She felt like a bomb ready to go off, a fiery cataclysm of emotion, careening through the camp and ready to detonate on whatever or whomever she crashed into. How was she always so profoundly, absolutely stupid when it came to Harrow? She was ferociously bitter, furious, and ashamed for letting Harrowhark get the better of her, for letting Ianthe be the one to validate that fear. Ianthe obviously didn’t give a shit about either of them and she probably didn’t even know what the hell she was talking about, that tiny remaining rationality in Gideon’s synapses understood that, but regardless of her ulterior motives, she had been right. Gideon had fallen into old habits, chasing after Harrowhark like maybe if she just tried, if she really gave it her all, they could return to the way things used to be all those years ago. How wasn’t she over this already? Gideon had spent years hating Harrow, absolutely detesting her, trying to make her life hell, so why now did her heart ache to know that her enemy didn’t fucking like her? Of course she didn’t like her! That’s what being someone’s enemy means! So why did Gideon like Harrow? Why was she always trying to capture her attention, year after year, fruitlessly, cauterizing parts of her own heart in the process? She had seen for herself that nothing of that Harrow she had loved so fiercely in childhood remained, she was foolish to hope to search for indications to the contrary.

Barraged and tormented by the thoughts screaming through her head, Gideon walked without looking where she was going and muscle memory led her down the path towards the barn and the church, and she wondered if she might just never stop walking. She would reach home eventually. Her eyes lingered on the church building, noting every sign of decay from the outside. The roof tiles had weathered a few storms too many, the doors hung uneven on their frame, the steps up to the front were sagging. She didn’t realize her pace had slowed until she heard Palamedes call out to her.

“Gideon, are you alright?” He asked, and she turned slowly to find him. Sextus and Camilla were sitting at a shabby bench just south of the barn, one she hadn’t noticed before. In between them were piles of papers and a few books. Apparently these lunatics had taken their homework to summer camp with them.

Gideon just shrugged, and she didn’t protest when Palamedes gestured to the spot on the bench in front of him and Camilla. Shoulders slumped, sunglasses donned to conceal the lightshow of emotion going off in her eyes, Gideon took a seat at the bench which groaned underneath her and rested her elbows on the table. Palamedes’ grey eyes were a gorgeous storm of concern, and Camilla had begun to gather papers into organized piles.

“I’m fine.” Gideon insisted weakly.

“You look like someone shit in your cereal.” Said Camilla, barely glancing up from her task.

“We had eggs for breakfast, Camilla, get with the program.” Gideon groaned, letting her head rest in her open hands, words muffled.

“Is this about Harrowhark?” Said Palamedes, who could read minds apparently.

“How do you know that?” Gideon asked.

“Because she walked by here not too long ago looking worse than you do.”

“Not possible.” Gideon countered.

“That isn’t the point. What happened?” Palamedes’ tone was gently insistent and kinder than Gideon had been expecting. All at once she was overwhelmed, ready to let her emotions explode outwards, to allow the tumorous jumble of malign thoughts to form words, but she was afraid that if she began she would never stop and she didn’t want to take advantage of the kindness of someone she barely knew by letting her life story deluge out of her unsolicited.

She took a deep breath in, out, trying to pick out the parts that made sense, but none of it did. “Harrow just fucking sucks, she hates me and I’ve been following her around like an idiot again.”

“I thought you said you hated her.” Camilla said simply, and Gideon groaned.

“I don’t know anymore, this is all so fucking stupid! Ianthe was right, she’s just been using me for her stupid paranoid scheme because she thinks the camp is evil or whatever.”

“Did Harrow say that?” Palamedes asked.

“No, Ianthe did.” Gideon felt stupid, feeble, exhausted.

“Perhaps you should talk to Harrowhark, I have known her for a few years now—” Sextus began, but Gideon interrupted.

“You don’t understand, Palamedes.”

He countered. “Of course I don’t understand, Nonagesimus is a woman of few words concerning her relationships with others and I have hardly scratched the surface of whatever had gone on between the two of you. But listen, Gideon, she can be rough around the edges and cruel, but she is still a human being like the rest of us. There is more complexity here than manipulation and malice. You should talk to her, not Ianthe.” The logic in his argument just made Gideon angry. She didn’t want to talk to Harrow because she was afraid to blow up on her, and afraid that she would be right, that Harrow didn’t fucking like her. That she was a cockroach under Harrow’s shoe. Gideon didn’t want to listen to the declaration of her worthlessness from Harrow’s own chapped lips.

“You have no idea the kind of shit she’s put me through, she isn’t above playing the long game and pretending to be friendly with me to get what she wants. She doesn’t care, she’s literally incapable of caring.” Gideon insisted.

“Has she done it before? If she really hated you, wouldn’t this all be harder to fake? Nonagesimus is a teenager, not an award winning actress. Gideon, she let you bleed all over her sweater, she picked rocks out of your skin with tweezers, she made sure you got to bed safe when you drank too much. She is incredibly intelligent but everyone is emotionally fallible, such a scheme is remarkably out of her abilities.” Palamedes replied, taking his glasses off to scrub at the lenses with the fabric of his t-shirt. His gaze was piercing, still saturated with empathy. “I am incapable of comprehending the breadth of this situation because Harrow is a closed book, but you ought to consider the possibility that she is capable of more emotional depth than you give her credit for.”

“Besides,” Camilla interjected, “I haven’t heard a single honest word out of Ianthe’s mouth this entire week.”

“It would be a mistake not to discuss this with Harrow, in any case, because there are four days left of camp and the councilors are not about to relax the buddy system because you can’t get along.” Palamedes was just being frustrating with this now. Gideon had spent nearly a decade of her life at constant odds with Harrow, she could do it again for four more days.

Gideon waved them away as she stood, stepping away from the bench. “I just can’t okay—” Her throat was beginning to tighten and the cacophony in her head was overwhelming, conflicting, overriding all logic and leaving her a blubbering upset mess. “We’ve fucked each other up too much already, I can’t let her in, I—” It was becoming difficult to swallow down the anguish in her voice. “This is stupid. I can’t let this shit get the better of me.”

Before Palamedes could provide another well-thought out arm-chair therapist rebuttal, Gideon took off and jogged in the other direction.

**

Gideon had spent the rest of the day dreading Harrow and awaiting the sweet reprieve of a dreamless sleep, but when she finally found herself wrapped in her blanket on that top bunk, rest predictably did not come. When lying down got boring, she sat up with her pillow against the wall. Her thoughts had been swirling around her head all day and there was no sign of an end, so she stared up at the ceiling and counted the nails she could see penetrating the wooden roof where the tiles had been pounded in. She tried to focus on the sound of the wind whistling in through the old window panes, the leaves rustling outside, the creaking in the rafters, anything to block out the susurrus from below, that noise of wheezing breaths that always reminded Gideon painfully of better nights. She counted other things, too. There were twelve wooden beams snaking across the ceiling to support it, four windows, four dusty old cobwebs.

The blazing conflagration of earlier anger had burned down to smouldering charcoal; it was still there but had been exhausted. She could do this all night, she thought, and if she ran out of things to count in the cabin then she would go outside and just walk until the sun rose: anything to banish those intrusive thoughts back to the deepest trenches of her mind. She couldn’t consider them, not really, if she thought too hard then her chest would ache and her throat would tighten and all of it would come flooding out of her.

Gideon was in the process of counting cracks in the corner of her window when she heard the squeak of the mattress below, the straining creak of the bunk ladder, and she was frozen with dread. She had been expecting it, but the sight of that pointed, makeup-smeared face at the top of the bunk ladder was unnerving. Harrow looked more tired than usual, resigned. If she were stupid, Gideon might think that Harrow looked grief-stricken, apologetic. When she reached the top of the ladder, only a few feet away, Harrowhark paused and looked pensive.

“Come with me.” Harrow whispered, dark eyes pleading. Gideon opened her mouth to say no, or fuck off, but Harrow very timidly added, “please.”

The please is what did it—what always did it—it was the pleading in her voice that compelled Gideon to climb down the bunk ladder. Her body moved autonomously without thought, without mental authorization, brain fruitlessly protesting to stay in bed. Perhaps it would just be better to get this over with. Gideon pulled her sneakers and a sweatshirt on, and then wordlessly trailed behind Harrowhark as she stepped out of the cabin.

It must have just passed midnight; the moon was high and bright in the sky, basking the path in shadow. Harrow led Gideon silently, and the dim glow from above combined with her long back nightgown and her dishievled, close cropped black hair painted the picture of an escaped insane asylum patient back when asylums were just government funded abuse. It almost felt like this was purgatory, that Gideon was damned for the rest of eternity to walk after the ghost of Harrow without a destination in sight. Looking at her made Gideon’s stomach twist and crushed the air out of her chest, so she tried to look at literally anything else, so caught up in not looking that she didn’t pay the slightest mind as to where they were going.

When Harrow finally stopped, they were standing on the rocky beach of the lake, which glittered in the moonlight. Frogs and crickets sung a symphony from somewhere hidden. It would have been serene in any other circumstances. The debris of yesterday had been cleaned up, leaving hardly any evidence of raft related carnage aside from the footprints speckling the sand.

“What the hell did you take us here for? Skinny dipping?” Gideon asked, a bit hysterical.

Harrow frowned, face flushed. “What? No! Absolutely not. This is just the best place to converse without spectators. Even if someone were to hide among the trees, they would have a difficult time overhearing.”

“Okay, so what? You brought me here to talk, the thing I told you I absolutely did not want to do? Very sneaky, Nonagesimus.” Gideon’s words were cold, hard, and irritated. She wanted to go back to bed and count the lines in the wood of the windowsill, she would rather do anything but this.

Harrow looked defeated, shoulders slumped, staring at her feet. She clasped both hands together and unclasped them in the nervous mannerisms of that Harrow of old, the one who laid her head in Gideon’s lap while they talked about nothing at all under the shade of a tree. She was unsteady, precarious in a way that had become completely unfamiliar. “I need to tell you the truth, all of it.” She sounded very unlike herself, voice divorced from its customary sharp edges.

“Well fucking finally! Would it be cliché to say too little too late?” Gideon could feel that familiar anger bubbling up inside her chest.

“Just sit down.” Harrow said impatiently, and Gideon complied because she had already followed her all the way to the lake, there was no point in running now. She crossed her legs in the sand and Harrow sat across from her, eyes trained on a beetle scutting over a rock.

“Alright, so lay it on me. What’s the truth, Harrow? Why have you been lying to me all this time?”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t lying, Griddle.” Harrow protested.

“A lie by omission is a lie. What has such gravity that you told Ianthe before you told me? Your parent’s having some connection to this stupid back water bible camp? How is that something to hide?” Gideon folded her arms across her chest and Harrow chewed her lip and shifted uncomfortably.

“I never told her. I’m fairly certain she found out before I did—”

“About what, Harrow? Stop dancing around the subject and just fucking say it!” Her impatience was rising, heart rate beginning to spike, old anger refreshed by new frustrations.

Harrow let out a deep sigh, lifting her eyes to finally meet Gideon’s. “My parents worked with the Canaan House charity when I was a child, they were close friends with Teacher, according to my evidence. There’s a framed photo of them in his office.” She spat the words disdainfully, like they were rotten.

“Is that really it?” Gideon felt like laughing because this was just absolutely ridiculous. Of course, Harrow hadn’t even trusted her with something so incredibly inconsequential.

“I’m not finished.” Harrow glared, face fixed back into that perfectly domineering Nonagesimus mask. “They worked with Canaan for a few years, and were collaborating on a bigger project shortly before they passed away.” She spoke so clinically, voice devoid of feeling like she’d practiced this speech in the mirror a thousand times. “My parents were very devout, Nav, they took their faith and place in the church incredibly seriously. I have reason to believe that they discovered something within Canaan house charity that caused them to commit suicide.”

“They what? Harrow, you never told me that your parents—that they did—that!” Gideon was shocked, struck by this revelation no one had ever bothered sharing with her.

“No one told me either, not at first. It wasn’t hard to pick up the whispers in the church and make the connection myself. The charity is very secretive so I struggled to find any evidence before coming here, but I had to come and investigate the camp for myself.” She looked at the ground again, hands fisted in the fabric of her nightgown, voice quieter. “And Griddle, I never wanted to involve you. It was selfish to, I have been putting you in danger without even taking the time to explain why.”

“Harrow, I offered to help. I wanted to! Fuck, you should have told me! Why didn’t you ever tell me back when we were kids? All I wanted was to help you then, too.” The pain in her chest had returned, accompanied with a colossal guilt. Harrow’s parents had killed themselves, left their daughter to fend for herself in a world that was trying to devour her and Gideon couldn’t even do the simplest thing and just be there for her.

“I wanted to—tell you—but I didn’t know how, Griddle. How was I meant to explain to you that my parents hung themselves and left me at the helm of their church and that I suspected a biblical charity was complicit in their deaths?” Harrow said, voice thick with pain and frustration.

“I should have been there for you, I should’ve—” Gideon began, voice breaking. “Fuck, Harrow. I am so sorry.”

Harrow’s expression changed, from resigned misery to anger. “You’re sorry? I should be the one apologizing! I took every iota of my pain out on you because I didn’t understand how else to express it. I beat you down, verbally abused you, resented you, tried to destroy you just because it made me feel better, because I have always been so horribly, disgustingly twisted!” Harrow stood, towering over Gideon until she stood in turn.

“But I returned fire! I fought back and then I initiated, I started completely fucking detesting you. I treated you like garbage! I hurt you when I should have been doing everything in my power to make it okay!”

“You were a child, Nav. You didn’t know any better.” Harrow replied weakly.

“So were you!”

For a moment they just stood there, silent, as if admiring the chasm that had opened in the ground between them so many years ago, filled to the brim with anguish and sorrow and hate. Gideon wondered if she could cross it, if they could let everything that had happened between them finally rest.

“Gideon,” Harrow said finally, and when Gideon met her eyes they were flooded with a scarcely suppressed river of tears. In this light, there was no telling where her irises ended and her pupils began. “I am so profoundly sorry. For everything. I treated you like you were the dirt beneath my feet! I never even gave you the dignity of solitude, trailing after you to instigate conflict at every opportunity because I couldn’t bear to let you go, even if I hated you. And I never—” Her voice broke, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I never hated you, Gideon, not really. But I wanted you to hate me. I deserve it because I destroyed the one beautiful thing my life ever contained. You are the only good I have, Gideon. I am nothing without you.”

“It’s okay, Harrow.” Gideon said, voice surprisingly steady under the colossal strain of emotion in her chest. She took a deep breath and with it, she stepped forward. She crossed over that invisible line between them, stepped over that chasm, walked through the walls they had constructed to keep each other out as they crumbled to dust in her wake. Everything crumbled, the trees and the lake and the sand dropping off into the void, leaving two girls who had broken and healed twisted. Gideon put aside everything they had ever done to each other, seven years of hatred and torment, all of the bruises and scars and the heartbreak which had driven them in different directions. “I forgive you.” She said, and she wrapped her arms tightly around Harrowhark Nonagesimus like it was the easiest thing in the world. In a way, it was. Maybe this was what it had always been leading up to: the two of them always so tangled together, never to be pulled apart. Harrow had frozen at first, taken completely aback, before her arms were wrapped tightly around Gideon’s back and she trembled. Before Gideon realized, she was crying too.

Eventually, the two found themselves sitting on an empty bench that faced the water, still wrapped in each other’s arms. Harrow was draped in Gideon’s lap, her arms coiled around her neck and supported by Gideon’s arms on her back. Harrow cried until there were no tears left and after that she was silent, laying her head on Gideon’s shoulder with eyes closed, breath still staccato from sobbing. Gideon had become so overwhelmed with it all that she was buoyed on a tide of emotion, head finally devoid of thoughts. Harrow’s body was feverishly warm beside hers, just as it always had been, and the ache in her chest had been replaced by something different.

“Do you really forgive me?” Harrow said, voice scratchy and soft. Gideon lifted Harrow’s head off her shoulder and admired her face. Her cheeks are red from crying, her eyes bloodshot, but even with the frown creasing her brow and the dark smears of makeup underneath her eyes, she was captivating.

“Of course I do, dummy. I wouldn’t lie to you.” Gideon replied softly, and Harrowhark smiled. Her face was so small and pointed, constructed without much grace, sharp angles in contrast with the gentle bow of her lips, but that smile transformed the whole into a stupefaction of beauty. Gideon had no idea how she had ignored it before: there was that wonderful spark of a girl she’d been chasing after all her life. Gideon leaned in and pressed her lips to Harrow’s forehead.

As Gideon began to pull away, Harrow fisted a hand in her shirt, the other placed very gently on her cheek. They were so close that Gideon could feel the puffs of breath on her skin and see the makeup settled in the creases underneath Harrow’s eyes. Harrow frowned as she very tenderly brushed her fingertips across the bruise coloring Gideon’s nose and under her eyes, silently apologetic. Harrow was looking at her like she had never looked at her before, committing every feature of her face to memory. Gideon shivered under Harrow’s inspection, cheeks hot and heartbeat erratic. Harrow’s lips were parted, as if about to speak, but all at once the world revolved as Harrowhark pulled Gideon in and kissed her.

It wasn’t Gideon’s first kiss, but it might as well have been for the explosion of endorphins erasing her ability to have coherent thoughts, overwhelming her senses. It was nothing like Gideon had ever experienced before, even though it was clumsy, even though she had an extensive history with kissing pretty girls. Harrow’s kiss was desperate, ferocious, a kiss to make up for all of the time they had lost hurting each other. And Gideon kissed her back with equal intensity, pulling her closer, balling up the fabric of her nightgown in her fists. She could taste metallic on Harrow’s lips where she had been chewing them, and so she kissed her to wipe away that pain, that anxiety, the horrible fear that had gripped the both of them that day. Something in her opened up and an inundation of her repressed thoughts came hurtling back to her, she felt everything she had been so petrified of feeling for so long all at once and it just felt right. This was what she had always wanted, had always needed. This is what they’d been running towards all their lives; it had always been Gideon and Harrowhark, Harrowhark and Gideon, and it would be that way until the end.

When the kiss finally broke, the both of them gasping, Gideon couldn’t help but laugh. It bubbled up from somewhere deep and she was bombarded by the absurdity of it all. “Shit.” She smirked. “We should have done that a long time ago.” Harrow flushed crimson and buried her face in Gideon’s neck, as if she hadn’t just been kissing Gideon like her life depended on it.

“Hey.” Gideon said, after a while. “One more thing.”

“Yes?” Her voice was soft, muffled against Gideon’s skin.

“What’s with all the spooky nonsense you keep adding to prayers? Teacher and the councilors keep looking at you like you just took a dump in front of them when they hear it. Is this some devil worshipping bullshit?” Gideon asked.

There was a pause, a silence filled by the sound of the water and croaking of frogs. “Yes.” said Harrowhark.

“Wait are you—Harrow, holy shit! I was joking. Are you seriously telling me you’re a devil worshipper?” Gideon replied, unable to suppress her dumbfounded laughter.

Harrow was frowning. “I would hardly expect you to understand the complexities of worship.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m a heathen, I get it. You still kissed me though.” Gideon said smugly. “But seriously, what? Your family ran a church, isn’t that sort of the antithesis of what a reverend’s daughter is supposed to be about?”

“When I was young and visiting a church my parents were involved with, I witnessed a statue of Lucifer. I have worshipped her every day of my life since.” Harrow said simply, a small smile crossing her lips.

“Okay, so you’re telling me that you looked at the devil and she made you gay?” Gideon prodded, unable to suppress a giggle of mirth.

“Oh shut up, Nav!”

**

When the two girls finally returned to the cabin, hand in hand and under the cloak of darkness, neither of them spoke as they both ascended the ladder to Gideon’s bunk. They lay down on their sides, facing each other, exhausted from everything that had transpired between them. Gideon wrapped an arm around Harrow’s waist and pulled her close so that Harrow’s head rested against her clavicle. They fell asleep holding each other, in absolute contrast to the violent, horrible ways they had interacted prior. Perhaps if they just held each other, every way they had ever ruined each other would dissipate. They could burn their bad memories for warmth and live fueled by the growth of something delicate and new in the once-arid landscape of their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly cried while writing this because I just love these funky little lesbians very much and I've been waiting to write this one for so long. Thank you for reading and as always feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	17. Fear of the unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon has a nightmare, the girls discuss what happens next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for descriptions of a car crash.

The headlights of the oncoming car flashed white and the cacophony of shattering glass and crunching metal ripped through her ears, her body lurching violently to one side of the backseat. The middle of the vehicle was caved inward and the woman in the driver’s seat was screaming, her blood spattered across the dashboard; her olive hands gripped tight onto the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. The car came to a screeching stop in the middle of the intersection and an earth-shattering crack of thunder nearly drowned out the screaming—a deluge of rain pattered against the car, pouring into the right side through broken windows. Gideon could never quite clearly see the woman in the driver’s seat, the harder she tried, the more difficult she was to comprehend. It was like she was perpetually out of focus, blurred at the edges. The woman was facing the road, unmoving but still screaming, her bright red hair half drenched by the rain. Gideon thought she must be screaming something—words, a word—but she couldn’t quite make it out. Her ears were still ringing from the impact.  
  
There were sirens from somewhere nearby, illuminating the inside of the car in red and blue, reflecting off of the shattered glass that littered the seat. More scraping of metal, someone calling in from outside and pounding on the left side of the car. Hands ripped at the door and shook the handle, scrambling to open it—but the car was filling with water. The rain became a flood and suddenly the car was sinking down into it. Gideon needed to move, to scream, to open the door from the inside and escape into the street, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t move. She was trapped there, lying against the door of the car in a body that wouldn’t move, eyes fixed on the woman in the driver’s seat. The water rose up to their necks, but the driver didn’t move either. She just kept screaming. Another crack of thunder, the rain began to pour in even harder now, like bullets across her cheek. Gideon strained with everything to comprehend the word being spoken, and just as the water began to fill her ears, she finally heard it. _“Gideon! Gideon! Gideon!”_ the woman wailed, and then the world was nothing but watery black.  
  
  


“Gideon, hey—” a soft voice filled Gideon’s ears and it took a moment to realize that it was Harrow’s. “It’s just me.”  
  
She blinked her eyes open, blinded for a moment by the early morning light streaming in through the window. She was lying down on her bunk and Harrowhark was beside her, propped up on one elbow and staring at her in the perfect visage of concern. Her thin black brows were furrowed, her mouth in a tight line, eyes empathetic. It was a foreign expression and it would have been alarming if Gideon hadn’t remembered last night. She let out a shuddering breath, only realizing then that she was shaking, and she sat up. It was still early enough that the rest of the campers and Mercy were asleep and the cabin was silent aside from the occasional shifting of blanket against mattress and the sound of wind from outside. 

The nightmare was a familiar one for Gideon and although it had recurred since childhood, it always left her with a pounding heart and an uncomfortable twist in her gut. She didn’t actually remember the car crash that her mother died in because she’d been only a day old, but her social worker explained the circumstances to her when she was old enough to understand. Gideon’s mother had been driving to the hospital with Gideon during a flash flood and when she couldn’t stop in time at a red light, her car was t-boned. Gideon’s mother had given birth to Gideon at home, and she was driving recklessly to get to a hospital afterwards. It was a miracle that infant Gideon had even survived, there wasn’t so much as a car seat for her in the backseat; there was only a pillow on the side of the car and the blanket she’d been wrapped in. When the paramedics arrived, the woman in the front seat cried _“Gideon!”_ three times before she lost consciousness. She died on the ambulance ride to the hospital. Gideon’s mother didn’t have any family and if Gideon had a father, he never made himself known, and so her life began in foster care. Ms. Julia had the best intentions when telling Gideon how her mother had died, but the nightmares that came afterwards never showed any signs of reprieve.  
  
“I’m fine, just a bad dream.” Gideon whispered before Harrow could ask the question. Harrow hesitantly reached for Gideon’s hand, and when she didn’t pull away, she took it. They just sat there for a while, not saying anything and not looking at each other, individually terrified of everything new between them.  
  
Eventually, Harrow said. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“No, not now.” Gideon said, shaking her head. “I just need a shower. I—thanks, Harrow.” She squeezed Harrow’s hand.  
  
Harrow nodded. “I could use one too, there will probably be more hot water now anyway.” 

They left Gideon’s bunk the same way they had climbed up into it only a few hours ago: together. Harrow waited as Gideon gathered up a fresh outfit and her toiletry bag, and silently they slipped out of the cabin and walked towards the bathroom building. Gideon was sluggish and exhausted from lack of sleep and in some ways it felt like she was still dreaming. It was like a warm blanket had been thrown over her, separating her from the world. It seemed impossible that she and Harrow would walk beside each other without a hint of hostility, without a word, that Harrow would hold her hand and look at her with those big dark eyes filled with concern. It was even more impossible that Gideon didn’t hate it—she _liked_ it, she felt comfort in Harrow’s presence, she was glad not to be alone. A part of her wondered when she was going to really wake up, when the hatred would return, because it had to, right? She struggled to reconcile with the idea that this time was different.  
  
They reached the bathroom building and Gideon took a long, contemplative shower. Her nightmares always left her quiet and stagnant, but this morning rendered her that way for different reasons. It was like she’d returned home to find that every piece of furniture in her house had been moved an inch to the left and she kept banging into corners. Her reality had been irrevocably shifted, twisted, molded into something terrifyingly unknown. Gideon didn’t know yet how to navigate this new—thing—with Harrow. She remembered the kiss and how it felt to fall asleep holding her and all at once she was struck by the fear that it might never happen again, and at the same time the fear that it would. They were trudging through uncharted territory and Gideon, frankly, was doubtful about what any of this really meant. She hadn’t ever gotten this far before. Sure, she’d kissed plenty of girls but none of them actually _cared_ about her. Fuck, did Harrowhark genuinely care about her? She just wanted to fall in line beside Harrow, to lose her hesitation and fully embrace all of her repressed feelings, she just hadn’t quite figured out how to do that yet.  
  
When Gideon finally left the shower stall, changed into jeans and her _“Love is Love”_ hoodie thrown over a tank top, Harrow was standing at one of the sinks. Her close cropped dark curls dripped water down the back of her shirt collar and she was rummaging through her makeup bag. Around Harrow’s wrist was the beaded bracelet Gideon had made for her, looped around twice so it actually fit. Gideon approached the sink and began brushing her teeth, struck by the eerie familiarity in the companionable silence they shared in front of the bathroom mirror. Harrow patted foundation into her skin carefully while Gideon dried and styled her hair. Gideon wanted to break the silence, but she couldn’t find her voice, so she just watched as Harrow blended dark eyeshadow and lined her eyes with black, finally reaching for her black lipstick. Gideon had always been reluctant to admit it, but Harrow did look pretty this way.  
  
“Hey, Harrow.” Gideon said finally, watching as Harrow applied her lipstick in the mirror.  
  
“What is it, Griddle?” Harrow didn’t look at her, tone flat. Gideon watched as she gently ran the applicator over her cupid’s bow. Her throat felt suddenly dry.  
  
“I uh, I was wondering about yesterday.” She replied, hesitantly

“What about it?”  
  
“Well I—I don’t know, I was just wondering what it meant. Like, does this mean you like me?” Gideon said earnestly, fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve.  
  
Harrow turned to face her, expression incredulous. “Gideon.” It was that tone of voice again that made Gideon feel like a very stupid child. “I kissed you.”  
  
“Well yeah, obviously, I just don’t know what that means!” Gideon cried, embarrassed.  
  
“You truly are God’s perfect idiot, Griddle.” Harrow said, turning back to the mirror and stroking lipstick over her bottom lip.  
  
Immediately, Gideon switched gears, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “Did you just call me perfect?”  
  
“I called you an idiot.” Harrow replied flatly.  
  
“No, you called me perfect!” Gideon teased and pointed to the bracelet on Harrow’s wrist. “So, you do like me, twilit princess.”  
  
It was Harrow’s turn to be flustered, cheeks coloring as she refused to meet Gideon’s gaze. “I think you can infer the answer without me saying it.”  
  
“But I want you to say it.” Gideon pleaded.  
  
“Fine.” Harrow growled, frowning. “I like you.”  
  
It was so bizarre to watch her lips form those three words. They were three words to rebuild, three words in complete contrast to what they had been telling each other most of their lives. They were new, tenuous, terrifying, and beautiful. She was beautiful, what bloomed between then had the potential to be beautiful. Gideon was so afraid she would mess this up, say the wrong thing, send them both back to where they’d been before this all started. But she took a deep breath and she stepped forward. She could do this.  
  
“Well, I like you too, my demonic darling.” Gideon said, red faced but still grinning. “Does this mean I get to kiss you again?” 

“Griddle, my lipstick isn’t dry.” Harrow said, and Gideon laughed.  
  
“Okay, that’s fair. How about after that?”  
  
A pause, and then quietly Harrow said “Okay.” 

**  
  


During breakfast, all eyes were on Harrow when she willingly sat next to Gideon. Camilla had an eyebrow quirked as she stared at the space between them, of which there wasn’t much. They were practically shoulder to shoulder, knees touching, as if they were afraid that separation would mean a reversal of everything that had happened the night prior. Ianthe was scowling through the entire meal, especially when Gideon playfully stole food from Harrow’s plate and she wasn’t murdered on the spot. Gideon didn’t look at her, but she knew Dulcinea was probably smug. She dimly wondered if anyone had noticed they shared a bed again, but this time she found she didn’t really care. If the counselors were planning to burn them at the stake for their gay crimes, they made no indication. 

For those in tune to their personalities and life stories, it was evident that things had changed between the two of them. During free time after lunch when they sat on a bench between the cabins with plans to scheme they were confronted, expectedly, by Palamedes and Camilla.  
  
“So it looks like you two talked.” Said Palamedes by way of greeting, taking a seat across the table from them. 

“You could say that.” Replied Gideon, who was hand in hand with Harrowhark.  
  
“Don’t forget that you owe me twenty bucks now, Pal.” Camilla said flatly, nudging him in the ribs as she sat down beside him. 

“Ouch, yeah, you win. I know. You always were smarter than me.” Sextus let out a short laugh, pushing his glasses up his crooked nose.  
  
“What on earth are you blabbering about? We were in the middle of a conversation, which you rudely interrupted.” Harrow said icily, shooting them both a glare.  
  
“We made a bet on how long it would take for the two of you to uh—” he cleared his throat “—make up, so to speak.”  
  
“More like makeout.” Camilla commented, one side of her mouth rising subtly into a smirk.  
  
“What the fuck.” Said Gideon.  
  
“I bet that it would take until the dance, Cam bet sooner than that.” Palamedes looked smug.  
  
“That is an incredible invasion of privacy!” Harrow squealed petulantly, because being a shrewd nun would always be her brand.  
  
“Yeah uh, gross. Are we really that transparent?” Gideon asked. Had everyone been watching them be trainwrecks just waiting for them to just kiss this entire time? What the fuck? Gideon felt like an idiot.  
  
“Yes, very.” replied Palamedes. “But jokes aside, we’re glad you talked it out. Nonagesimus is a lot less enjoyable company when she’s pissed off.”  
  
“She’s literally always pissed off though.” Gideon pointed out.  
  
“I am not.” replied Harrowhark sourly  
  
Gideon planted a swift kiss on her cheek and said, “Case in point.” Disarmed, Harrow immediately turned red and began spluttering.  
  
“Anyway,” Palamedes rose from the bench, Camilla following suit. “We’ll leave you to your scheming—and don’t try and lie that you aren’t scheming. I’ve come to realize that I can’t actually stop you.”  
  
“Just be careful.” Camilla warned, and then the two of them were off. Gideon watched them go, dressed in their matching greys and side by side as they disappeared back towards the path into the woods. Gideon couldn’t believe they’d actually been _betting_ on when the two of them would kiss. Christ, this was supposed to be a bible camp, wasn’t it? She nearly missed all the over the top godly bullshit people, at least the reverend wasn’t making bets on Gideon’s very personal life and ineptitude. 

“Alright then, you heard the nerds: it’s scheme time. What’s on the roster?” Gideon glanced over at Harrow.  
  
“Not much, actually, aside from a bit of scouting. Yesterday, I broke the lock on Teacher’s cabin with the hopes that he would move his laptop into his office. That’s what I needed you for when Ianthe—when she interrupted.” She replied, and more hesitantly she added “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.”  
  
“I want to. And no sweat about the Ianthe stuff, she sucks.” Gideon lifted Harrow’s hand up and kissed the back of her knuckles.  
  
“She does.” Harrow agreed and kissed Gideon’s hand in turn. They were both a bit embarrassed after that. Gideon felt a bit like a middle schooler on a first date, she had no idea how to navigate this kind of tender affection. It was probably going to kill her.  
  
“The dance is tomorrow, if you weren’t aware.” Harrow added after a beat.  
  
“I very much wasn’t! Thanks, Harrow. Next time I get thrown into a bible camp without my consent, I’ll actually read the suggested literature.” It kept coming back to that stupid pamphlet. “Do we have an exact plan for that?”  
  
Harrowhark thought for a moment. “We will attend the dance and as soon as Teacher is distracted, we’ll slip out and break into his office. Once we’re done, we’ll stash whatever we found in the cabin and return to the barn, hopefully unseen.”  
  
“Sounds simple enough, it’s too bad I left my _“be gay do crime”_ shirt at home, that would’ve been perfect.”  
  
“The dance is formal attire only, your arsenal of shirts will have to go neglected for a night. Woe is you.” Harrow replied flatly, and Gideon laughed.

There was a silence after that and during it, Harrow rested her head on Gideon’s shoulder. Internally panicking, Gideon tried to stay as still as possible to avoid making Harrow think she didn’t want her there. 

Eventually, Gideon broke the silence by asking “Hey, Harrow. Why don’t you trust Palamedes with the truth? You two are friends, after all. He could actually be helpful to us.”  
  
Harrow shrugged, leaning her unoccupied elbow on the table and resting her chin on it. It was strange to see her so relaxed. “The matter is just very personal. I don’t like to talk about it with anyone. I was hoping he would just help me regardless.”  
  
“Yeah, well you could’ve thought that one through a little harder. He’s very caught up on logic and reason, I don’t think you could really appeal to his emotions. Especially when those are currently occupied with Dulcinea around.” Gideon replied. It was almost funny how simple Harrow’s reason for not sharing was, and it served as a reminder that she had always been painfully human. She was never the big bad evil person Gideon made her out to be, she was just a scared teenager who needed help but wasn’t sure how to ask.  
  
“I know.” Harrow replied miserably and Gideon gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll tell him one day, but not now. I don’t want to disrupt him, he seems to enjoy his time here.” It was surprisingly compassionate, coming from her.  
  
“Well then it’s us against the world, baby.” Gideon hesitated, glancing over at Harrow. “Can I call you that?”  
  
“You can.” Harrow said after a moment, quiet and flustered again. I was so bizarre to see her this way, nervously chewing on her bottom lip and red-faced. It reminded Gideon of younger days before Harrow had grown out of her shyness. Perhaps she never truly had.  
  
“Sounds good.” Gideon said, gently lifting Harrow’s chin upwards to kiss her. Harrow kissed her back and Gideon could feel her smiling.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	18. The Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon and Harrow attend the dance and Ianthe makes good on her promise of a distraction.

The day of the impending dance was mild and uneventful. The only break from routine was eating dinner in the grass since the barn was closed to be outfitted for the event. Gideon still thought the entire thing was absurd, but it served as an excellent opportunity for her and Harrow to invade Teacher’s belongings and snatch dark secrets or pocket change, so she would comply with less resistance than usual. At least she wouldn’t be forced to stand around with a bunch of bible dorks listening to Christian pop for longer than she had the stomach for. She just had to be presentable and behave, although it was doubtful she’d meet either requirement with her duffle bag stuffed full of vulgar t-shirts and her lack of overall filter.   
  
“Alright kiddies, dress nice or I’ll lock you in the cabin for the rest of the night.” Mercy, already wearing her Sunday best, barked her directions and disappeared not long after depositing them back in the dingy cabin.   
  
Cool, so Gideon was probably screwed. With a sigh, she dug through her duffle bag for a shirt change and a nicer pair of jeans. If she’d known the occasion would call for it, she might have purchased one of those stupid tuxedo print shirts they sell at those awful mall kiosks. If all else failed, Gideon could just break out of the cabin and wait outside for Harrow. That was just the monumentally less fun option. She tossed aside already-worn shirts, jeans, socks, a hoodie, and resigned to her fate of missing out. But would it be that bad, actually? Listening to Christian pop was shaving years off her life. 

When Gideon reached the bottom of the bag, she paused. Folded very neatly under her endless pile of shirts was the suit Aiglamene had bought her a year ago for her friend’s wedding. It was a simple tailored suit jacket, trousers and shoes, accompanied by a white button up and black tie. The entire affair was freshly washed and pressed; on top of it was a blue sticky-note. In Aiglamene’s handwriting, it read “ _Hope you’re having fun! :)_ ” and Gideon could just _feel_ the sarcasm. Aiglamene was evil confirmed, subjecting Gideon to first bible camp and then camping and then a _dance_ at _bible camp_ . Gideon wondered again how much money and time she’d put into this devious plot, but surely she was at home laughing her ass off at the idea of Gideon’s suffering. Well, at least Gideon would get to look smoking hot.   
  
When Gideon returned from changing in the bathroom, she exchanged her suit jacket for her leather one and left the top two buttons of her shirt undone. Her hair was a bit messy and she didn’t bother with the tie because skirting the line of what constituted formal was part of the fun. Besides, she wanted to look the part of a super cool hot spy criminal. The cabin was mostly empty, aside from Camilla and Dulcie who had gone to change together and were quicker than the rest. Dulcinea was using a compact mirror to apply dark red lipstick and Camilla was helping her tie her hair back into a braided bun. Gideon tried hard not to stare at Dulcinea’s low neckline _._ In the meantime, Gideon leaned against the bunk ladder and watched people come in and out the cabin door. The next person in was Jeannemary. Everyone seemed to be semi-formal, barely a step up from the Sunday clothes they forced themselves into. It meant Gideon would stick out a little less which would help her sneak out more effectively later.   
  
As Jeannemary entered, Camilla asked “Do you need help with your hair again?” without looking up.   
  
“No, Isaac did it. Thanks, though.” Jeannemary replied, gesturing to the complex dark braid she tossed over one shoulder. She took a seat on her bunk and changed into dress shoes.   
  
Shortly afterward, Camilla ascended her bunk and began to sort through a folder of papers. She and Palamedes never seemed to take breaks with their academics. Nerds. Hair now carefully pinned out of the way, Dulcinea rolled her wheelchair across the cabin and came to a stop beside Gideon.   
  
“Don’t you look stunning!” Dulcie commented, batting her eyelashes.   
  
Gideon blushed, just barely managing to splutter out “Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself.”   
  
Dulcinea fixed her blue eyes on Gideon intently as if reading her face, a devious grin on her lips. “So, tell me, Gideon. What happened between you and Harrow?” 

Gideon sighed, she knew this was coming. “Well, we talked and then she uhhhh… she kissed me.” she rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, looking anywhere but the girl in the wheelchair beside her. Gideon heard a gasp come from Jeannemary, who she’d stupidly forgot was there. Well, the cat was going to come out of the bag eventually.   
  
“Well, isn’t that nice. Good for you two.” Said Dulcinea amicably. “I’m glad to hear that things seem to be working out. Did you hear, Cam and Pal had a bet on it?”   
  
Gideon resented the amusement in Dulcie’s voice, but she couldn’t fault her for finding humor in her and Harrow’s collective stupidity. “Yeah, they mentioned it. Assholes.”   
  
“I heard that.” Camilla said flatly.   
  
“Yeah I hope you did!” Gideon called back, finally letting her gaze rest on Dulcie. “But yeah it’s… it’s good, I think. We’re good.”   
  
Dulcinea smiled. “Let’s hope it stays that way. And you two have fun tonight, even if you’re not at the dance for long.” she winked knowingly and rolled away. She had either guessed their plans, or Palamedes had and couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Nevertheless, Gideon didn’t have much time to consider this before the cabin door opened and in walked the Tridentarius twins.   
  
Ianthe had been glaring at Gideon more than usual lately but hadn’t made any direct offensive moves, perhaps she had finally given up after her plans to pit Gideon and Harrow against each other backfired spectacularly. The violet and gold dresses the twins were wearing had to be designer and were on par with Gideon’s expectations of prom. Only Coronabeth could make being extravagantly overdressed look glamorous and appropriate. Ianthe just looked tired, like a dehydrated and sad version of her sister.   
  
“Wow, Gideon.” Coronabeth said, slipping on heels to match her dress. “You clean up nice.”   
  
A few days ago, Gideon might have swooned instantly and been kissing the ground that Corona walked on. Now, preoccupied with swooning over a different girl, she just felt flustered and awkward. “Thanks, you look great too.” was all she could muster.

Harrowhark arrived back at the cabin last, having redone her makeup and changed into a calf-length black dress with a high collar, full skirt, and lace sleeves. When Harrow’s dark eyes settled on Gideon, she frowned and walked in her direction. “You’re adequately presentable, I’m shocked. What are you wearing that jacket for?” The insult lacked its usual bite, in fact she seemed a bit flustered.   
  
“Oh come on, I want to commit crimes in style. It’s way cooler this way, trust me.” Gideon argued, watching Harrow as her eyes wandered to the abandoned jacket and tie on top of Gideon’s bag.   
  
“You aren’t going to wear makeup? This is a formal event, Griddle.” Harrowhark said flatly.   
  
Gideon let out a sharp laugh. “No, when have you ever seen me wear makeup? I don’t own any, I think the last time I tried I was like twelve and ended up looking like a clown.”   
  
Harrow was quiet for a minute, chewing the black lipstick off her lower lip. “I could do your makeup.”   
  
“What?” Gideon replied, incredulous.   
  
There was a pause, and then with iron resolve Harrow said “Let me put makeup on you, Griddle.”   
  
Suddenly, the five foot nothing stick of a girl standing before Gideon was the picture of intimidation. There was a scant few inches of space between them and Harrow’s cold black gaze weighed on her differently than it used to. If there wasn’t a ladder against her back, Gideon might have begun to back away slowly. She faintly remembered that pre-teen day when she ran thick black lines of pencil eyeliner around her eyes until she looked like a racoon, and the reaction she’d had to the drug store foundation. Never again after that had she touched the stuff, but she briefly considered it. She imagined Harrow’s makeup on her own features, but it would probably be way too much. Besides, getting that close—it would be Harrow, touching her face—the thought of it turned Gideon bright red.  
  
She looked away gruffly and said, “Fine. But don’t go as heavy on me as you do on yourself. And no foundation, that shit makes me break out. Just eye stuff.”   
  
“I’m doing lipstick as well.” Harrow insisted.  
  
“Whatever.” Gideon shrugged, and let Harrow lead her by the arm to the bottom bunk.   
  
Gideon sat down heavily on Harrowhark’s unmade bunk, watching as she collected her makeup bag. Though they had spent time together on Gideon’s bunk, being on Harrow’s felt different. The bunk above blocked out much of the light from the window, leaving it swathed in shadow. No wonder Harrow had to come up that night to read the notes Gideon had been passing, it was like a crypt. Moments later, Harrow perched herself beside Gideon, laying makeup products beside the rumpled pillow. Their knees were touching in a way that had become familiar, almost comforting. She fixed her stare on Gideon intently, eyes running over her face like she was scanning the features for clues, or mapping it out in her mind.   
  
“Lie down.” Harrow said.   
  
_“What?”_   
  
When Harrow rolled her eyes, she was like the ever-critical Harrowhark of old. “You heard me. Lie down.”   
  
“Okay, what why?” Gideon replied, incredulous.   
  
“Because you’re too tall. I need to be able to reach your face.” She admitted, finally, cheeks looking a bit pink beneath her foundation.  
  
“Because you have the arms of a newborn baby.” replied Gideon smugly. “And you’re a dwarf. But fine, sweet cheeks, your wish is my command.”   
  
Gideon followed the whims of her maybe girlfriend and lay down on the bunk, resting her head on the pillow and letting her eyes wander upward. She could see the mattress of her above bunk through the wooden slats. The bedding smelled a bit like Harrow, like her sweat and the laundry detergent she used. Beside Gideon, Harrow shifted awkwardly, as if she wasn’t quite sure where to put herself. Harrowhark moved to sit near Gideon’s middle, reaching her arms towards the pile of makeup products, before she stopped and reconsidered. Behind her eyes was a mind whirring with complex calculations and thoughts Gideon could never begin to comprehend. Harrow took a deep breath and without warning, swung one leg over Gideon’s middle, effectively straddling her by the waist. Heart racing, Gideon felt her face grow hot and her mind begin to scream in panic. Before Gideon could yell _“Hey what the fuck”_ , Harrow piereced her with a withering look.   
  
“Don’t look at me like that.” Harrow said, “This is the best vantage point I have. Now shut up and sit still.”   
  
“I didn’t even say anything!” Gideon said in protest, panic slipping into her voice.   
  
“Shut up and sit still.”   
  
Gideon shut up and sat still, trying to wrangle the jumbled thoughts running wildly through her brain. Harrow was resting all her weight—though she didn’t have much—on Gideon’s hips. She leaned forward, grabbing a small purple tube in one hand and twisting the cap off. There was nowhere for Gideon to look but Harrow, but looking at her from this close was terrifying. It shouldn’t be, it had no right to be, she’d kissed Harrow several times by now, but against all odds she was completely intimidated by the girl who sat across her middle with either knee anchored by her sides. Gideon dimly wondered if Harrow could hear her thundering heart, feel it when Harrow’s hand made gentle contact with her face. She couldn’t hope that nobody was watching, that nobody had seen; she only hoped that Mercy wouldn’t return to the cabin anytime soon. Gideon could imagine the door swinging open, their councilor’s shril, disappointed shriek for them to stop disappointing God.   
  
“Close your eyes.” Harrow said.  
  
Gideon closed her eyes and Harrow stroked a wet brush across her eyelids, rubbing it into her skin with the pad of her thumb. She followed Harrow’s commands without protest, opening and closing her eyes and turning her face to one side or the other autonomously. Gideon practically held her breath for the duration as Harrow’s body rested on top of hers, her pointy elbow coming to rest on Gideon’s clavicle. When she opened her eyes for a moment, Harrow’s face was inches from hers. After a hissed command to close her eyes again, Harrow brushed eyeshadow over Gideon’s closed lids and blended it, running the wet felt tip of an eyeliner over her lids. It felt like minutes and it felt like hours, like time was slowing down and speeding up all at once, stuttering and flip flopping and completely fucking up. Gideon felt like she was going to have a heart attack, dizzied by Harrow’s proximity and the thoughts dominating her cerebrum.   
  
“You can open your eyes.”   
  
Gideon opened them and watched as Harrow unscrewed the top of a tube and coated the applicator in product. With finality, Harrow gently brushed liquid lipstick over Gideon’s lips. It was cool and sticky and it felt too dry on her lips afterwards. She couldn’t remember a time where she’d worn lipstick before. For a moment after Harrow finished, she didn’t move. She looked at Gideon intently like she was looking through her, or like she was examining her work for faults. Her gaze made Gideon lightheaded. They met eyes and Harrow’s cheeks tinged pink and like a frightened cat she pushed off from Gideon and moved to stand.   
  
“I’m finished.” Harrow said, tossing the handful of makeup products she used messily into her black bag, fishing into it for a compact mirror before handing it to Gideon.   
  
Gideon sat up slowly and took the compact mirror. Laying for so long made her head hurt and her heart hadn’t quite ceased it’s staccato rhythm. In her mind’s eye, she looked like a clown. She was almost afraid to look, but she didn’t want Harrow to watch her hesitate, so she flipped the compact open and looked in. The first thing she noticed was her black painted lips, and then the dark shadow around her eyes. It was surprisingly understated, with dark browns blended into the crease of her eye. Her lid was lined with sharp black wings and—surprisingly—there was gold glitter in her eye’s inner corner.   
  
“Wow.” She said after a moment.   
  
“Is that all you have to say?” Harrow said.  
  
Gideon laughed, closing the mirror and handing it back to Harrow. “I just didn’t peg you as the type to have glitter at your ready disposal. It looks good.”   
  
Harrow rolled her dark-rimmed eyes. “My aunt gave it to me. I would never wear it.”   
  
Before Gideon could accuse Harrowhark Nonagesimus—dark angel of the underworld—of owning golden glitter on purpose, Mercy stomped into the cabin. She had done her apricot hair up in a braided bun, but there were strands of it falling into her face, which was red and scrunched into a severe frown. She looked fresh from an argument.  
  
“Alright girls.” She said, not sparing a moment. “The dance has probably already begun by now so no more dragging your feet. Snap to it and we can finally get going.” Mercy decreed severely.  
  
**  
  
All of the bench tables in the barn had been folded up and cleared out, stacked up against the side. The large doors were propped open, allowing light and music poured out. It was more Christian pop, obviously, which had an unexpected and very unfortunate crossover with country music. Gideon didn’t necessarily hate country music, no, she just got sick of it’s overtones of tractor loving and heterosexuality after a while. Inside, the barn had been transformed, though it was still recognizable for what it had been: a decrepit old barn converted into a bible camp cafeteria. The window behind the cafeteria counter was shuttered and the door to the kitchen was just barely cracked. A few tables had been left inside to hold punch and an assortment of snacks, which Gideon was going to gorge herself on if she had anything to say about it.  
  
The decorations inside the barn screamed _Pinterest Wedding_. It looked like the venue that some early-twenty-something high school sweethearts would choose because they didn’t have a great budget and weren’t sure what else to do with their new adult lives but get married. It was all Edison bulb novelty lights strung up in the rafters and punch served in mason jars, just begging to be considered hip and cool instead of cliche and cheap. Any marriage celebrated here would probably end in either divorce after a year or five kids and a life of resentment. Still, there was something almost romantic about it. Maybe it was the fact that it was cheesy, set up by a few out of touch religious geezers in an attempt to appeal to the jaded youth. Maybe it was the fact that the entire concept of a dance at bible camp was ludicrous, so steeped in irony that Gideon couldn’t resist finding joy in it. It was so bad it was good, and perhaps for the hour or so before Ianthe made good on her distraction, Gideon could see just how far she could push the limits of their chaperones. 

Gideon’s group was the final one to arrive, so they very luckily missed whatever awkward speech Teacher might have given. Although every cabin group and councilor was inattendance, the barn wasn’t exactly at full capacity. The older campers were let loose in the barn while the youngest of the bunch were cordoned off in the smaller gated corner of the barn so that they didn’t get trampled by dancing teenagers. The group dispersed into the crowd to dance uncomfortably to acoustic guitar or pig out on horderves, Harrow finding a place on the sidelines to stay watchful. Gideon headed straight for the snack table and spent the better part of fifteen minutes curating the perfect snack plate and watching the crowd. As an afterthought, she filled two mason jars with punch and headed in Harrow’s direction. It was the chivalrous thing to do.  
  
“So,” Gideon began as she handed punch over to a reluctant Harrowhark. “The plan is to wait around until Ianthe does something?”   
  
Harrow frowned and took a sip, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Yes, we’ve been over this.” She grumbled. Gideon wondered if the impending heist was beginning to stress her out, Harrow was being meaner than the days prior. Or maybe she was just like that.   
  
Gideon changed gears, leaning against the barn wall and reaching out to take Harrow’s free hand. “It’s weird watching everyone, makes me wonder if this is what prom is like.” She hesitated, sipping her punch. “Did you go to prom last year?”   
  
Harrow snorted. “No.” 

  
“Yeah, I guess that’s fair. I didn’t either, but you could probably guess. I wonder if it’s any fun.”   
  
“I doubt it.” Said Harrow, eyes scanning the crowd. Her gaze paused on a figure in the middle of the room, a younger boy wearing a white suit and shadowed by an older, worn looking man. It took a moment before Gideon could place either of them. The boy was Silas Octakiseron who was a sophomore and one of the most irritating people Gideon had ever met. He was two years younger than Gideon but skipped a grade and shared a few classes with Harrow.   
  
“Oh gross, the fun police are here. Who’s his friend?” Gideon asked.   
  
Harrow shrugged. “I think his name is Colum, he’s Octakiseron’s nephew. He must be a chaperone, though, because he’s too old to be in high school.”   
  
“You don’t seem happy to see him here. Bummed because he scored higher than you in AP chem?” Gideon teased.   
  
Harrow bristled. “That’s only because you blew up my project, don’t you remember?”   
  
“Oh yeah, I did do that. I’m a dastardly saboteur.” Gideon replied contemplatively and then laughed. “I’ll apologize, but for the record I think we’re even after what you did to my English paper.” She gave Harrow’s hand a squeeze.   
  
Harrow didn’t reply, just squeezed Gideon’s hand back. It felt funny to speak so cavalierly about the slights they’d inflicted upon each other. Maybe they really could just forgive and forget, maybe this right now was a part of that. The two watched the crowd in silence. Camilla was in conversation with Coronabeth, who pulled her out onto the floor to dance. They were an odd pair, but Gideon could see it working out. Isaac and Jeannemary were on the sidelines, mixing a bunch of food into punch and betting on who could drink the most, which was classically teenaged and revolting. Gideon found another familiar face in the crowd: Judith Dueteros, who was captain of the soccer team Gideon played on and the last person she’d expected to see here. Marta Dyas wasn’t far behind her, carrying Judith’s punch. Gideon only saw Teacher once, and it was when he stepped into the cafeteria room eating a handful of peanuts. Mercy and Augustine were somewhere on the sidelines, waiting to pull kids apart when they got too frisky with each other.   
  
The pair stood there like wallflowers and watched in silence for the better part of several awful, saccharine Jesus-loving songs. When the music changed to something just as awful but slower and kids began to pair off, Gideon turned to Harrow.   
  
“Do you wanna dance?”   
  
Harrow raised an eyebrow critically. “Why would I want to do that?”   
  
Gideon just shrugged and placed her empty cup on a nearby table. “It’ll be fun!”   
  
“Griddle, we need to be waiting for a signal.” Harrow protested.   
  
“You can just keep an eye out, it probably won’t be that hard to miss. Come on honey, sugar… cocoa powder, flour, mix well. Just one dance. These songs are three minutes long tops.” Gideon pleaded, taking Harrow’s half-empty cup and putting it on the table. She grabbed Harrow’s other hand and tried to give her best winning smile.   
  


“Fine.” Harrow rolled her eyes. “But for posterity's sake I need you to understand that it wasn’t your terrible joke that convinced me.”  
  
“Okay, but you saying that means that it totally was my terrible joke.” Gideon smirked and pulled Harrow with her onto the dance floor which was half filled with teens already.   
  


When they found a place among the crowd, Gideon guided one of Harrowhark’s hands to rest on her shoulder, placing her empty one on Harrow’s waist. She looked at Gideon quizzically.  
  
“What?” Gideon asked.   
  
“Nothing, I just didn’t expect you to know how to dance.”   
  
Gideon cracked an amused smile, taking the lead and moving the two of them to the acoustic guitar spilling from the speakers. “Yeah, well, I do. I took it as an elective in middle school after all the better PE options filled up. I turned in my schedule late, you know how it goes. Anyway, I was taller than most of the girls in that class so I always had a lead. So basically I’m the total package. You lucked out, Nonagesimus.”   
  
Harrow’s cheek reddened. “Don’t flatter yourself. And no, I don’t know how it goes because I never turned in anything late.”   
  
“Ah of course, because you are my infallible academic majesty.” Gideon gave a mock bow.   
  


When Harrowhark rolled her black-rimmed eyes, Gideon could see a hint of mirth. Around, colors swirled and the music roared. Along the way, Gideon spotted Palamedes dancing gingerly with Dulcinea and she couldn’t help but smile at them. It almost felt like this wasn’t some backwater bible camp. She spun Harrow with a yelp and when she pulled her back in, they were close enough for Harrow’s head to rest close to hers. In her peripheral, Gideon spotted a white-suited Silas with a sour expression pushing between two couples and fixing his dark eyes on the space between them—or lack thereof. Sensing danger, Gideon immediately began dancing them away.   
  
“Leave room for Jesus!” Silas cried in disgust.   
  
By the time they had navigated away from Silas’ critical eye and ancient morals, both Gideon and Harrow were laughing.   
  
“Christ, he’s a piece of work. Probably needs to get laid.” Gideon remarked between giggles.   
  
“Gideon!” Harrow cried, stifling a laugh with her hand.

  
After that, it was like a warm comfort washed over the two of them. It was almost easy to just fall into step and forget that before long, they’d be breaking into a locked office. Gideon wondered what they’d actually find, if anything. Maybe it would be empty: only ultimate proof that Harrow was being paranoid and they could leave here with a brand new relationship and unexpectedly sweet memories untarnished by potentially disturbing revelations. Maybe Gideon wanted it to actually be nothing, or maybe she liked the idea of uncovering some kind of grand conspiracy with Harrow by her side.   
  
If someone had told Gideon that she’d end up dancing with Harrow at bible camp, she would have laughed herself into an early grave. Here and now, though, it just made sense. It was like the stars had aligned for them, like this was some weird divine intervention. Maybe God was real and he was finally looking out for Gideon, but probably not.   
  
“Stop staring at me.” Harrow said flatly.   
  
“We’re dancing, I’m supposed to stare at you.”   
  
“Sure, but you’re looking at me like you’re thinking about something.” Harrow argued. It was funny how well she could read Gideon.   
  
Gideon shrugged. “I’m just feeling a little sentimental. It’s not any day you get to dance with a pretty goth weirdo in a dilapidated old barn. What can I say? I’m a romantic.”   
  
“Yes,” Harrow rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging the corners of her lips. “This is truly the pinnacle of romance, I am completely wooed.”   
  
“Of course you are.” Gideon grinned and leaned in so their foreheads were pressed together. Harrow closed her eyes, but just as Gideon leaned in for the kiss, something on the sidelines caught her eye.   
  
On the other side of the dance floor, leaned against the wall and furiously waving her arms at the couple was Ianthe, looking thoroughly pissed.   
  
“Gideon?” Harrow asked, tearing Gideon’s eyes away from Ianthe.   
  
With a sigh, she gestured in Ianthe’s direction. “I think that’s the signal.”   
  
**   
  
Reluctantly, they joined Ianthe on the sidelines and when she saw them hand in hand, Ianthe pursed her lips in a grimace.   
  
“So what’s this fabled distraction?” Gideon asked jovially.   
  
Ianthe rolled her eyes. “You two took long enough, get a room or I’m going to vomit.” She warned.   
  
“Is there going to be a distraction, or not?” Harrow asked.   
  
Ianthe looked in Harrow’s direction and gestured towards the open kitchen door. “I believe it’s underway. Augustine just went in. You can have a look if you want, he didn’t tell me what he was going to distract them with.”   
  
Wordlessly, the three of them approached the kitchen door. The music had changed and was loud enough that no one would hear them, but they were still cautious in their approach. There were three folding chairs set up in a semi-circle between the closed serving counter and the gas stoves. In them sat Teacher, Mercy, and Augustine. Augustine was halfway through a cigarette and they were passing a flask around. Gideon might have been surprised if she hadn’t been watching the way these three behaved around each other for a week and a half. Teacher poured quite a bit of what might have been whiskey into his punch, swirling it around before taking a drink.   
  
“That’s disgusting, John.” Mercymorn said, taking a swig from the flask and wiping her mouth before thrusting the whiskey towards Augustine, nearly spilling it all over his rumpled grey suit.   
  
“It was only two shots!” Teacher protested.   
  
“That was _way_ more than two shots.”   
  
Augustine took the flask and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need you to tell him to watch his booze. Lighten up, Joy.” They were seated beside each other, but leaning away.   
  
Mercymorn whipped her head around and half snarled “Shut up. You can’t tell me to lighten up, you brooding shithead.” It was clear to Gideon then that Mercy was drunk, all three of them probably were. “You’re the one who never shuts up about how much you hate it here, how much you hated Cristabel.”   
  
“Oh, don’t you two start this again. We were getting along!” Teacher cried.   
  
“No we weren’t.” Mercy snapped.   
  
It was an old argument by the looks of it, brought back up to prod at each other’s old scars and sore spots. Augustine took another swig from the flask and sighed.   
  
“I don’t hate Cristabel.” He said finally, resigned. “It’s all over now, they’re gone. They aren’t coming back.”   
  
Something flickered in Mercy’s expression, she looked almost feral. “Say that again.”   
  
Augustine stubbed out his cigarette and exhaled, leaning closer to Mercy. “I don’t hate Cristabel. Joy, I don’t even hate you.”   
  
Before he could finish his sentence, Mercy had a fistful of his shirt’s collar, her expression hard. For a moment, Gideon thought she was about to punch him, but that wasn’t what happened. Mercy leaned in and kissed Augustine hard on the mouth with animalistic ferocity. It was a rough, fierce kiss, all teeth and tongues and old anger melting into something completely disgusting. It was a desperate kiss chock full of drunken passion and horrid familiarity. The two councilors kissed each other like they were trying to fight a violet battle with their mouths, and they kissed _loud_ . Teacher barely even reacted, only opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. This had absolutely happened before, and just thinking about it made Gideon want to vomit. She was too shocked to speak, to retreat from this horrifying spectacle and it seemed like Harrow and Ianthe were too. It was like watching a car crash, they couldn’t tear their eyes away even as it scarred them for life. Harrow squeezed Gideon’s hand like she was dying.   
  
When the kiss broke, accompanied by the horrible wet squelch of mouths reluctant to part, Augustine turned to face Teacher, who was once again trying to speak. Without a word, a warning, or any explanation, Augustine kissed the leader of this awful derelict bible camp.   
Before Gideon could yell _“Holy shit what the fuck!”_ a hand was clapped over her mouth—Ianthe’s. Her first instinct was to bite her, but it was probably a good thing that none of the camp staff saw them in the doorway. She could just imagine the look on Mercy’s face. Gideon felt like she was going to keel over at any moment, it felt like they were intruding on something. Augustine kissed Teacher gentler, intently and like they had practiced this drunken rendezvous one thousand times. Shit, they probably had. Beside Gideon, Harrow had stiffened completely in shock.   
  
It wasn’t until the shirts began to come unbuttoned that Gideon’s wits returned and she backed out of there like the room was on fire, dragging a stunned Harrowhark with her and sliding the kitchen door closed behind her for good measure. There was a silent moment where the three of them just stared at each other, wide-eyed and disgusted. Even Ianthe looked shaken, her mouth wrinkled like something was crawling all over her skin. The dance wore on, the harrowing events transpiring in the backroom unbeknownst to the rest of the barn. At least they picked somewhere private.   
  
Harrow was the first of them to speak. “What kind of distraction was _that?”_ She cried, aghast.   
  
Ianthe shrugged, trying to look like she wasn’t also disturbed. “An effective one, Harry. At least I hope for your sake.”   
  
Gideon shook her head, half wondering if this entire dance had been a fever dream and she’d wake up in her bunk at any moment. “Fuck. Did you know that was going to happen?”   
  
“No, I didn’t know it was going to happen!” Ianthe snapped, her mask of calm eroding. “What do you take me for?”   
  
“A nasty pale pervert weirdo who gets off on watching geriatrics share saliva.” Gideon replied.   
  
“I feel sick.” Harrow said simply.   
  
“I do as well.” Ianthe said, ignoring Gideon. “That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. Someone had better kill me before I get that old.”   
  
“I need to bleach my eyes.” said Gideon.   
  
There was a pause, and Ianthe opened her mouth to say something before her eyes settled on Harrow’s hand in Gideon’s and she switched gears. “Here.” She reached into her dress pocket and handed a ring of small keys to Harrow. “Augustine gave me these. You two should get out of here before they finish.”   
  
“Oh, _god.”_ Gideon gagged. “Why would you _say_ that?!”   
  
“I didn’t mean it that way! Just get out of here before you run out of time.” Ianthe yelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Silas cameo is specifically dedicated to the tumblr user who asked me if he was going to get included in this fic, I can't find the ask so I'm not sure who it was but just know I did it for you. Anyways I hope everyone likes the anticipated dance chapter! Feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	19. Breaking and entering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon and Harrow break in to Teacher's office in search of the truth.

Harrowhark handed Gideon the key ring just as they exited the barn. On it were a few keys too small to open the office door and if she had to hazard a guess, they probably belonged to the filing cabinets. It wasn’t hard to slip out unnoticed, what with their councilors occupied and the rest of the chaperones making sure none of the teens danced too close to each other. In the end, they practically waltzed out the front door without intervention, heading silently in the direction of the office buildings. The roaring of wind hid their footsteps. It felt strange to be walking down the path from the barn at this time of night since generally they’d be sequestered in their cabins by now. It felt foreign, like they weren’t supposed to be here. Then again, that part was just true.   
  
“Did Ianthe seem weird to you?” Gideon asked once they had gotten far enough away from the barn. The path in front of them was unlit and deserted.   
  
Harrow shrugged. “What do you mean?”   
  
“Well, she didn’t try and stop us this time, or try and pit us against each other, or creep on you. I just think it’s weird for her to help us when she has nothing to really gain. She’s losing and she seemed almost sad.” Gideon said.   
  
Harrow gave her hand a squeeze. “Well, in that case we should be extra careful. She didn’t have anything obvious to gain, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she used this against us later.”   
  
“Yeah, why did you involve her anyway?” Gideon glanced over and saw Harrow frown.   
  
“She involved herself, she threatened to tell Mercymorn.” She spat. “She… she had the notes from the bible.”   
  
“Oh shit, so that’s where those went. What a bitch, trying to get the better of us like that. Well, I guess we’ll keep an eye on her. There’s only two days left though, I’m not sure what kind of damage she could do in such little time.”   
  
“It’s not wise to underestimate anyone, let alone Ianthe. But we have more pressing matters to attend to.” Harrow said pointedly.  
  
The office building looked the same as it had the last time they came here, only draped in shadow and about seventy percent creepier. They were cautious in their approach, with Harrow halting them every so often to look around and make sure they weren’t being followed. There was only so much they could do, though, considering it was dark as fuck and they were surrounded by trees. At least if someone was following, they probably couldn’t see Gideon any better than she could see them.   
  
When they came to a stop in front of Teacher's office, Gideon looked through the window in the door. The office was completely dark and in a similar state of disarray as the last time they’d visited. The only obvious change was the closed laptop resting on the desk parallel from the door. Harrow didn’t hide her sigh of relief.   
  
“You said you know how to pick locks.” Harrow said after a while, turning to look at Gideon.   
  
“Yeah.” Gideon said, taking a step back. The window in the door had multiple small panes separated with wooden muntins. The glass was single paned and probably a decade older than Gideon with cracks blooming from one corner of the pane above the doorknob, which was brass and rusting. It was an uncomplicated lock. “I can totally do that.”   
  
Gideon took her leather jacket off and paused in consideration before wrapping it around her right fist. She didn’t need to look over at Harrow to know she was looking at her like she was an idiot. With one deep breath, Gideon punched through the pane about the doorknob, sending glass flying.   
  
“Gideon!” Harrow cried in surprise, muffling herself with her hand. “What on earth did you do that for?”   
  
“Gah, fuck!” Gideon cried, withdrawing her fist and clutching it. “That hurt a lot more than I thought it would.” Under her jacket, her hand was miraculously unharmed, save for some split skin on her first three knuckles. She shook her hand out and reached through the broken window, unlocking the door from the inside.   
  
“What the hell, you idiot! They’re going to know we broke in now!” Harrow said, blood probably boiling.   
  
“Okay, yeah, I get it: dumb idea. But consider this: we don’t have time to pick the lock, we have no idea how long the dance is going to last nevermind the distraction.” Gideon paused, picking up a branch from the ground and tossing it through the window. “Boom, now it looks like the wind did it.”   
  
Harrow didn’t say anything for a long, painful moment, until she crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “Whatever, it’s not like you could undo it anyway. Let’s just get looking already.”   
  
Gideon smiled and opened the door with a bow. “After you, my diabolical debutante.”  
  
Harrow rolled her eyes and entered, stepping over the glass that carpeted the wooden floor. Gideon shut the door behind them and locked it for good measure. Without preamble, they crossed to the desk and Harrow took a seat in the chair. It was an ancient, leather thing with spit seams spilling stuffing and it wheezed painfully when Harrow sat down. As Harrow lifted the lid on the laptop, Gideon took a look around. The office was cramped and dismal, dimly lit by the laptop screen. She didn’t dare switch on the desk lamp even though it was almost guaranteed that no one would see them here anyway. Maybe she was just paranoid, but there was something about this place at night that made her uneasy. Above the desk was a framed photograph of Teacher with Harrowhark’s dead parents. Gideon had only met them a few times, but they had never seemed to like her, so it had been even harder to understand why Harrow was so torn apart after they died.   
  
“That’s unsettling.” Gideon pointed to it, readjusting her sunglasses on her nose.   
  
Harrow glanced up at her with a glare, but said nothing before looking back to the laptop. She was typing furiously on the keys.   
  
“What, are you mad at me? I’m sorry I broke the window, I know it was dumb.” Gideon said pleadingly. It felt bad to be in this position again with Harrow looking at her like she was the reanimated carcass of a dead raccoon.   
  
“Take those stupid glasses off. You’ve been wearing them all night and it’s dark in here.”  
  
“What?” Gideon replied incredulously. “Harrow, they’re really cheap, shitty sunglasses. I can still see.”   
  
Hands stilling on the keyboard, Harrow sighed. “I just think they’re stupid. And… and I like to be able to see your eyes.” she admitted.   
  
Gideon’s stomach did a backflip and her cheeks went red. “ _Oh_.” she said, taking the sunglasses off and tucking them into the pocket of her jacket. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”   
  
Harrow nodded, and Gideon started to laugh. “What?” Harrow snapped.   
  
“It’s nothing—it’s just—” She paused, muffling her laughter with a hand. “That was the reason the whole time? Harrow, I was wearing them in spite of you.” She admitted.   
  
“Of course you were.” Harrow hesitated, before refocusing. “Stop standing around, you have work to do.”  
  
Gideon busied herself with the filing cabinets; there were four cabinets and five keys and it wasn’t hard to work out which key went to which. Every so often, she glanced over towards Harrow to see what she was doing with the computer. Harrow’s hacking didn’t look nearly as interesting as it did in the movies. There were no fancy flash drives with codes, no windows opening that she was furiously typing random strings of numbers into. She just swore occasionally and kept her eyes focused on the glow of the screen. Gideon unlocked cabinet drawers and looked inside. There were files upon files, their meanings an unknowable mystery to her. In one of the drawers, there was a gallon bag of potting soil and a half empty watering can that sloshed when she opened it, along with a jacket that stank of mildew. She closed that drawer. In the next, she found the leatherbound notebook from before and began to flip through it again to see what they’d missed. When she heard a sound of victory from Harrow, she turned her head to see the home page of the computer, cluttered with disorganized files.   
  
“She’s in!” Gideon said, abandoning the filing cabinets.   
  
“Yes, well, it wasn’t very hard. He’s another moron like you.” Harrow said smugly.  
  
Gideon frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”   
  
“His password was childishly simple, just like yours was. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have bothered asking Palamedes for his help.”   
  
“Okay, rude. What’s the password?”   
  
“John sixty-nine Giaus four-hundred-twenty.” Harrow said, and Gideon didn’t know whether to laugh or be mortified. Maybe both. She resented being so unoriginal that a bible camp leader shared her taste in passwords.   
  
“Did you find anything?” Harrow asked when Gideon didn’t respond.   
  
She shrugged. “I’m not really sure what I’m looking for, Harrow. There’s a lot here.”   
  
Harrow frowned and looked pensive, before standing up and gesturing to the computer. “You can take over here.” She said. “I need you to find the employment and financial records so we can cross reference them with the notebook. Save whatever you find on here.” She plugged a flash drive into the laptop’s usb port and headed in the direction of the cabinets.   
  
Gideon took her place at the desk, half wishing she hadn’t promised to keep the sunglasses off because the screen was bright enough to burn straight through her retinas. At least it helped illuminate the room. The first thing that Gideon noticed were two sticky notes pasted to the laptop, one on the upper corner of the screen and another on the keyboard. The one on the screen read: _“JOHN, THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING_ — _MERCY”_ which was ominous; the one on the keyboard, written in handwriting which could scarcely be considered legible, read: _“Sat 8 PM notes bring talk”_ which didn’t make sense but must have been important because it was underlined six times. The laptop itself was small and the background was a group photo: Gideon recognized their cabin group’s councilors, Teacher, and the other Gideon. The rest of them were people she hadn’t seen before.   
  
The desktop screen itself was, to say the least, abysmally disorganized. There were icons saved to it with file names such as: _“image-4.jpg”, “thing12.jpg” “fjdfndj20.pdf”, “work.jpg”, “work memo19.doc”._ Gideon decided to ignore the images for the moment and just open as many pdfs as humanly possible. The first one was a scanned page out of a cookbook on the proper way to make bone broth. The second was the pdf of the brochure Gideon had never read, which would have been useful if they’d broken in a week earlier. The work memo was a message from Mercy typed in all caps telling Teacher that his organizational system didn’t make sense to anyone else but him and she was going to throw his laptop into an industrial shredder if he didn’t stop. It was probably her who pinned the document to his task bar but unfortunately the constant threat of laptop death didn’t spur any urgency in him. That or this system of organization was somehow an improvement, but Gideon shuddered to think about what system could be worse than this.   
  
When she sat down at the desk, Gideon thought that Harrow had given her the easy job but she was sorely mistaken. She spend the first ten minutes sorting through scanned CVS receipts, old photos, camp fliers, outdated memes saved directly to the desktop in pixelated jpg form, and three documents named _“kfdjksfjk.doc”, “kfdjksfjk_FINAL.doc”, “kfdjksfjk_FINAL_FOR_REAL.doc”_. They turned out to be three iterations of a sermon, each with less and less pop culture references as they went along. Gideon wondered if it was Teacher or Mercy who edited them. After she worked her way through the key-smash documents, Gideon began to sort through the other various ones such as _“work23.pdf”_ and _“important.doc”_ and _“important12.doc”_. The first was a list of camp activities and scheduling for the year previous and both _“important.doc”_ and _“important12.doc”_ were completely blank. When Gideon pressed _ctrl-z_ a few times on the latter document, it revealed itself to be a shopping list. The first one did not change.   
  
“Harrow, this is torture.” Gideon said after a while, glancing over. Harrowhark was digging through a pile of papers and comparing them to the notebook.   
  
“Yes, it is.” Harrow agreed, rubbing her temples. “This cabinet has financial records for only 2006 and 2014 and they don’t match the book. We need to find the complete records.”   
  
It was an order, and so Gideon dove back in with vigor, opening and closing every stupidly named document until she had browsed through everything she could see. She had seen lists of objects and locations with no context, fast food receipts from 2007, a vacation photo from 1998, a list of phone numbers, but the actual records eluded her. She let out a groan, feeling her hopes sink. In one last spurt of irritation, she removed Mercy’s passive aggressive sticky note and tossed it onto the desk. Beneath it, were a few more key-smashed images and three documents reading _“workmemo16.doc”_ _“FNR95-PRST.doc'' and_ _“EER2001.pdf”._ The memo read: _“Upgraded your computer from Windows Vista. Seriously, John, I don’t even know how you even got a copy of that operating system when this laptop is a year old_ — _Mercy.”_ Gideon disregarded it and moved on, there was only so much of the camp leader’s computer illiteracy that she could comprehend at one time.   
  
“Oh shit, Harrow, this is it.” Gideon breathed a sigh of relief as the second document opened up to reveal the camp’s officially recorded financial records from the year 1995 to the present. Harrow came up beside Gideon to look, squinting her eyes against the light of the screen.   
  
“Copy that over to the flash drive and then print it so I can look at it over here.” Harrow said, and Gideon did just that. The printer turned out to be in one of the filing cabinet drawers.   
  
The next document was the employee records from 2001, which must have been the completed version of the list in the book with surnames included, though none of these names were crossed out. Gideon scanned the end to find the missing name, and there were actually two: “ _Anastasia, Samael Novenary 2001.”_ Gideon copied the document over to the drive and then printed it for Harrow.   
  
“Hey, I found both records so I’m going to start looking these names up and see what I can find.” Gideon said and Harrow responded with a grunt. She was bent over the printed documents and the notebook, scribbling on scrap paper, dark brows furrowed and eyes focused.   
  
Gideon decided to start at the bottom of the list because curiosity had gotten the better of her, she wanted to know why those names had been ripped off. “Jesus christ.” She said in disgust.   
  
“What?” Harrow replied, alarmed.   
  
“This dude uses bing as his default search engine.” Gideon said.  
  
“Griddle, focus.”   
  
She focused, and resisted the urge to change Teacher’s default settings. The broken window was one thing, but downloading an entire other program was definitely something he would notice. When Gideon searched the last two names on the list, she had to dig through social media profiles with names spelled slightly different and a few completely unrelated articles before she finally found a local news article archived from 2002. Gideon clicked it and read through. It was a missing person’s report for the two of them stating that they had vanished from their place of employment at the Canaan House but they hadn’t found any evidence of foul play; at the bottom there were resources to contact with possible leads. A follow-up article from 2009 declared them officially dead and contained obituaries written by their families. Gideon screenshotted and saved both articles to the flash drive just in case before telling Harrow what she’d found.   
  
“You don’t think he killed them, do you?” Gideon asked warily.   
  
Harrow shrugged. “It’s possible, there was blood on the notebook. It might belong to one of them.”   
  
Gideon felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “I guess you weren’t kidding about this being a life or death situation.” she said, turning back to the computer. “If the other crossed out names on that list are dead people, I’m gonna freak.”   
  
The rest of the names on the list, fortunately, were not dead people. They all just seemed to have left the charity at some point over the last decade and a half and most of what Gideon found were social media, linked in profiles, and the occasional local news article.   
  
“Hey Harrow, get this. Two of the people on the list, Cyrus and Valancy, own a portrait studio now. Look at this page, they teach an after hours nude portrait class for $15, all the censoring on these ones are with melons! Good first date idea, don’t you think?” Gideon waggled her eyebrows jovially at a scandalized Harrow.   
  
“I would rather you rip my fingernails out.” Harrow said brusquely. 

“Harsh. Maybe it’ll have to wait until the third date then.”   
  
Gideon continued to work up the list. It seemed that Pyrrha no longer worked at the camp but still had ties to the charity. When she looked up both Alfred and Cristabel, their linked in profiles showed the same place of employment: a place called the _“Anti-Cult Liberation Unit.”_ Intrigued, Gideon clicked into the website. It seemed to be poorly built, though, so it took a few minutes to fully load.   
  
“Looks like two of these guys work for an ani-cult group now.” Gideon commented, watching the loading wheel on the screen spin. In the meantime, she examined the desk. The side drawers opened to reveal a bag of peanuts, the kind of biscuits you eat with tea, car keys, loose paper, sticky notes, and a few unused notebooks. The top drawer, though, was locked.   
  
“Can you pass me the key ring really quick?” Gideon asked, and as soon as she had it she tried the fifth key in the lock. It fit, and she handed the keys back before looking inside. It looked pretty similar to the rest of the drawer aside from one thing: a small collection of bones, which looked like they might have been human. “Oh what the fuck.” She said, gesturing at Harrow to come and see.   
  
Harrow picked up one of the bones, squinting at it. “Distal phalange, it’s a real bone. Seems like it’s human.”   
  
“Oh of course _you_ would know that.” Gideon said humorously, although she was quite unsettled. Harrow tossed the bone back in and shut the drawer, locking it again.   
  
“It doesn’t mean anything.” She said, before returning to her pile.   
  
When the website had finally loaded, Gideon read through it. They were an anti-cult charity organization formed in 1999 which worked to help rescue people from the clutches of local cults. Gideon wasn’t aware that there were local cults to be rescued from, but she suspended her disbelief and read on, opening the _“About Us”_ page.   
  
“Seems like they were founded by somebody called Wake who had personal experience with the Canaan House, oh wait a sec—there’s an obituary.” Gideon told Harrow, even though she was only half-sure the other girl was listening.   
  
When the page opened, the gears in Gideon’s brain stopped turning, like one had spun off entirely and sent the entire mechanism out of whack. The obituary page was dated in February of 2003, and the picture on the screen was unmistakably the only photo Gideon had ever been shown of her dead mother. She hadn’t seen it since grade school, but it had been seared into her mind. Below it was the woman’s full name, although she’d only ever been referred to Gideon as Awake. Her thoughts were stuttering to catch up and process this new chunk of information, but all she could see was the mother she’d lost and the connection seemed unfathomable. She just stared at the screen, wide eyed and bewildered.   
  
“Hey Griddle—” Harrow called, tone of voice neutral, but when Gideon didn’t respond she crossed over to the desk. “What’s wrong?”   
  
“That’s—that’s my fucking mom.” Gideon said, gesturing to the screen incredulously.   
  
“I don’t follow.” Harrow replied.   
  
“I told you about the anti-cult whatever the fuck, right? Two of the old counselors work there, but this says here that my mom founded it before she died. Nobody ever fucking told me about this, they just said she worked for a charity. But she was connected to this camp, somehow, with the bonus unsettling implication that this camp is actually a cult.”   
  
“That’s… strange.” Harrow said tactfully. “If there are cult connections, they are scarce.”   
  
“Yeah, I’d say whoever came up with this crap is a whackadoo but that’s my dead mom I’d be insulting.” Gideon joked, but it was half-hearted. In truth, there was a pain in her chest. She hadn’t seen that photo in so long, she’d been convinced she was over this. “I don’t know, I just—I didn’t know her, I never got to know her. So this is weird!”   
  
“Well, think of it this way.” Harrow said, placing a gentle hand on Gideon’s arm. “You’ve both hated this camp and the charity connected to it, so you could think of it as something you have in common.” It was unexpectedly comforting.   
  
Gideon let out a humourless laugh. “Yeah, I guess there’s that. But anyway, I’m pretty much done here. How is everything on your end?”   
  
“The official financial records show an amount much higher than the ones in the notebook, the charity may have been at a loss for a few years. It’s definitely fraud, although I can’t be sure of its exact nature. The money has to be coming from somewhere, so my best guess would be money laundering.” Harrow replied.   
  
“Damn, I guess you can say officially that you weren’t just being paranoid.”   
  
“Of course I wasn’t being paranoid!” Harrow spat, gathering up the papers into a neat pile.   
  
“Yeah, honey, I know. Before we get out of here, was there anything else in the book?” Gideon closed the tabs in the browser and cleared its history, shutting every pdf she’d left open and closing all applications. She even wiped the keyboard down with her shirt sleeve for good measure and stuck Mercy’s sticky note back on the laptop screen.   
  
“There wasn’t much, but I scanned and printed the pages. We can look over them more thoroughly when we have time. For now, we need to get leave before we get caught.” There was an unmistakable hint of urgency in her voice.   
  
“Yeah.” Gideon disconnected the flash drive and placed it into her jacket’s inside pocket. “Hey, I’ll hold on to the paperwork, I’ve got big hidden pockets and we don’t have time to stop off at the cabin.” 

  
  
They left the office exactly how they’d found it, minus one broken window. They also left the ring of keys on the desk since Teacher leaving them here was plausible and keeping them had potential danger to it. Gideon even locked the door again, double checking to make sure that they hadn’t left any evidence. She felt anxious but also a little giddy. There had been so much build up to their break in and they finally had some of the answers, although it only left Gideon with more questions. When they were finally done, Harrow lingered just outside the office, fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve.   
  
“You ready to return to the eternal suffering that is a dance at a church camp?” Gideon asked, taking Harrow’s small hand in hers.   
  
“Yeah.” Harrow said, taking a pause. “Hey, Gideon. Thank you.”   
  
Gideon smiled. “For what?”   
  
“For trusting me.” Harrow said, before placing a chaste kiss on Gideon’s lips and pulling her back towards the barn.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have perhaps maybe beaten my writer's block, so updates might come frequently again. Special shoutout to the folks in the people's tomb discord for giving me a few of the computer-related john jokes, you guys are too funny. As always, feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I will definitely be continuing this but probably not on any set schedule. This is actually my first ever fanfic so I would appreciate feedback! I had such a fun time writing this, feel free to talk to me at [frostryn](https://frostryn.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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